


Sulevin Ghilana Hanin

by FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf)



Series: Nyssa of Ralaferin [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/FenHarelMaGhilana
Summary: 'The knight's purpose is to guide you.' Four years after the events of By Any Other Name, Nyssa joins the Inquisition.
Relationships: Fenris/Original Character(s), Male Inquisitor/Dorian Pavus, Male Lavellan/Dorian Pavus
Series: Nyssa of Ralaferin [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/913779
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10
Collections: Dragon Age Den fic collection





	1. Keeper's First

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [By Any Other Name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13209825) by [FenHarelMaGhilana (WhitethornWolf)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhitethornWolf/pseuds/FenHarelMaGhilana). 



> Nyssa is my genderfluid, bisexual OC, who features in By Any Other Name (also on Ao3). You can find more about hir at @lesbianarcana on tumblr.
> 
> Nyssa uses zie/hir pronouns. Grammatically, they are similar to she/her.
> 
> Many thanks to Lane (@hinabean / @nbimg on tumblr) for betaing!

The Exalted Plains

9:41 Dragon

Hir leg was cramping again.

Nyssa shifted hir weight slowly, delicately, digging hir toes into the rough bark to avoid rustling the leaves of the tree that hid hir. Only half-remembered lessons and sheer discipline kept hir carefully balanced as zie extended hir leg and rotated hir ankle, grimacing as tendon and bone popped and cracked in protest. Zie flexed hir calves, inhaling deeply through hir nose, and roughly massaged hir knee. Pointless, of course, but it was better than simply enduring the ache. After you hung in trees or squatted in bushes for three days, inevitably your joints would begin to hate you.

The Exalted Plains were a dangerous region, and in the months Nyssa had spent here, zie had seen many come and go: demons, wraiths and spirits; a Dalish clan south of the river who let hir trade information for supplies. Zie had even seen deserters from the Orlesian army looking to make a life for themselves free of war... but zie had never seen the Inquisition here until now.

News travelled fast, even in such a widespread place as the Plains. The Inquisition had reformed following the absolute disaster of the mage-templar conclave a month beforehand, and rumours said their leader was an elf with the ability to close the Fade rifts that had suddenly appeared all over southern Thedas. That would have been enough to intrigue hir, if zie hadn’t also heard of the refugees flooding the most remote Orlesian villages, notwithstanding the massive Fade rift that had opened in the sky itself. Although it had closed now—no doubt the work of the elf they called the ‘Herald of Andraste’—the scar in the sky remained.

Nyssa knew the Inquisition would likely pop up at some point, but zie hadn’t expected them to arrive in the Dales so soon. Nor had zie expected the camp to be so diverse. Most were humans, of course, but zie had seen at least a half dozen elves in uniforms, as well as a dwarf woman who appeared to be the one in charge. Still no sign of the Inquisitor themselves, but surely they would be arriving at some point, judging by the frantic bustling zie had observed in the last day or so.

There was no avoiding it. Zie would have to approach the camp, and hope the Inquisitor would arrive soon to hear hir petition. 

Anxiety erupted in hir stomach at the thought; a burning nausea that had hir breathing deeply to calm hirself. If the Inquisitor truly was an elf then perhaps they would be more sympathetic to a request from their own kind. Elven solidarity was a weak leg to stand on, though, and it didn’t make hir feel any better. Nyssa straddled the branch and carefully began to pull hirself around the trunk, rubbing hir foot. Zie wouldn’t get anything done hiding in trees, at any rate.

It took hir some time to make hir way through the trees surrounding the camp perimeter until zie could position hirself above the narrow road west of the camp. A moss-covered, crumbling statue of Fen’Harel stood underneath hir tree; just beyond it, two soldiers guarded the camp entrance.

It was now or never.

Nyssa swung down from the tree branch and dropped lightly onto the statue’s head, hir half-wrapped feet splayed on the pitted stone. Both soldiers caught sight of hir at the same time, but neither raised a hue and cry like zie’d expected. Clearly, Inquisition scouts knew of the Dalish presence in the region. They only watched hir warily, hands on their swords as zie shimmied down the front of the statue.

“ _ Andaran atish’an _ ,” zie said.

The soldiers stared. They were both human; one a woman with a scarred face, dark skin and full lips that she licked nervously when Nyssa approached. The other was a man, broad in the shoulders with a crooked, bulbous nose and a sour look.

“State your business, elf,” Scar Face said finally. Nyssa took another step forward, and both soldiers drew their swords, showing several inches of steel. Zie stopped and held up hir hands in a placating gesture.

“I need to speak to the Inquisitor,” zie said. “I have information.”

Broken Nose squinted suspiciously. “What kind o’ information?”

_ The kind you are not privy to _ , Nyssa wanted to say, but zie held back the sharp words. “It concerns the tears in the Veil.”

Zie unbuckled hir dagger and tossed the weapon to the ground. There was another pause as Scar Face and Broken Nose looked at each other. Then the man retrieved the dagger and gestured for Nyssa to follow.

Zie hadn’t surrendered hir staff, shrunk to the size of a twig and stuffed in hir sash, but what they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

* * *

The camp seemed larger and much louder from the ground. There were uniformed people everywhere – setting up new tents, hoisting pots of water on the campfire, doling out weapons to a few young men and women in ill-fitting armour.

In the middle of camp was a solid wooden table covered in papers. Nyssa caught a glimpse of a heavily creased map and what looked like a scouting report before hir gaze fell on a dwarven woman scribbling furiously on a scrap of paper. Zie recognised hir as the woman who had been coordinating the camp.

Broken Nose grasped Nyssa by the shoulder; zie flinched, hir spine stiffening in alarm.

“Scout Harding,” he said, and the woman glanced up. “This rab—uh, elf turned up outside camp. She says she got information for you.”

Scout Harding had a freckled, friendly-looking face and striking green eyes under thick eyebrows. Those eyebrows raised as she took in the human soldier’s sour expression and Nyssa’s barely restrained annoyance.

“Thank you,” she said. “You can go back to your duties.”

Nyssa wrenched hir shoulder from the man’s grip and threw him a scowl, which he returned. He saluted and left.

“Sorry about that,” Scout Harding said. “He’s new. You from the Dalish clan near the river?”

Nyssa shook hir head, plucking nervously at hir scarf. “I came to tell you that your scouts missed a rift in one of the elven ruins west of here.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I must speak with the Inquisitor.”

Harding sighed. “The Inquisitor isn’t here.”

“But they will be soon,” Nyssa pointed out. “Your people are running around like crazed nugs trying to prepare for them.”

The dwarf almost cracked a smile at that. “True. Look, Inquisitor Lavellan is a busy person, and I can’t say for sure he’ll take your word for it, but—”

“Then tell him unless he wants to let even more demons run amok in this place, he should lend an ear.” Nyssa crossed hir arms. “Or two. I’m not particular.”

* * *

The Inquisitor arrived within the hour.

Nyssa had seated hirself on a tree stump near the cluster of new tents, guarded by Broken Nose. He hovered just on the edge of hir peripheral vision, chatting with two men huddled around a small fire. Nyssa didn’t care about his inattention. Zie was busy observing the camp bustle around hir and rehearsing what zie was going to say to the Inquisitor. That kept hir distracted enough to ignore the stares hir presence attracted.

Then the distinct sound of horse hooves reached her ears, and a shout came from the camp entrance.

“The Inquisitor is here!”

Two horses came into view surrounded by a small guard patrol. All new soldiers, Nyssa observed, likely part of the Inquisitor’s entourage.

The creature that followed the soldiers was striking enough to draw hir attention immediately; not just for its sheer size, but for the great, branching horns crowning its head.

A hart, Nyssa thought, with a spark of curiosity. They were uncommon creatures this far east, and it had been years since zie had seen one. The hart’s rider was no doubt the Inquisitor, and it was interesting to see for once the rumours weren’t exaggerated. He was an elven man, with auburn hair drawn away from his face and a face tattooed in markings zie recognised as honouring June the Craftsman. Nyssa noted well-muscled arms and fair, freckled skin before zie glanced at the two others dismounting their horses. There was a human man, wearing robes from an expensive-looking fabric and carrying a staff: a mage, obviously, perhaps from one of the Circles. He had a curled moustache and an arrogant look about him. The other was a Qunari; a giant of a man with broad shoulders and a set of horns that were almost as wide. He looked oddly familiar, though zie couldn’t place where zie might have seen him.

Inquisitor Lavellan dismounted as Scout Harding came to greet them at the gate. Nyssa watched as they exchanged words, then Harding gestured in hir direction. Lavellan seemed to notice Nyssa for the first time, nodded at Harding and began to walk towards hir. Evidently, Broken Nose had also spotted the Inquisitor coming, for he straightened. Nyssa twisted just in time to slap away the man’s hand as he reached for hir.

“Do not touch me,” zie said. “I will not warn you again.”

The Inquisitor coughed politely. Broken Nose saluted and shuffled away hastily, followed by the amused glances of the Inquisitor’s companions.

“That was quite the display,” Lavellan said.

Nyssa flushed, suddenly feeling like a child caught with its hand in a cookie jar, but the other elf seemed more amused than offended. Zie steeled hirself and crushed down the anxiety in hir stomach.

“ _ Andaran atish’an _ ,” zie said. “I am Nyssa.”

The man smiled, his amber eyes warm. “ _ Andaran atish’an _ . My name is Ghil. Scout Harding didn’t tell me you were one of the Elvhen.”

Lavellan was tall for an elf, and the angular features and vallaslin marked him as distinctly Dalish. He could have passed for any of the young hunters in hir own clan, but for the obviously human-style armour. Still, it looked well-fitted and good quality, with the symbol of the Inquisition engraved on his breastplate. A bow and a quiver rested on his back.

Nyssa returned the smile. “I could say the same of you,  _ lethallen _ . I wasn’t expecting... well, not someone with the clans, anyway.”

“Are you with the local clan?”

Zie shook hir head. “I come from clan Ralaferin in the Free Marches. I’m passing through.” The name sounded odd on hir tongue, and zie suddenly realised zie had not uttered the name of hir clan in a long time.

“And I take it you’re not here just to welcome me to the Dales.”

Nyssa shook hir head. “It wasn’t my first priority. No offense.”

In later years, zie would cite the Inquisitor’s gift for insight as one of the reasons zie enjoyed working with him. There must have been some outward sign of hir nervousness that zie was unable to hide; a shuffle of hir feet, or fiddling with hir scarf. Lavellan cast Nyssa a shrewd look, glanced at his companions and said, “Would you two mind giving us a minute?”

The Qunari and human man looked at each other, shrugged, then left. Lavellan gestured for Nyssa to follow him back to the map table.

“Don’t leave on our account,” Lavellan said as Harding went to step away. “You probably should hear this too.”

“I already have,” Harding said. “Barbet mentioned something about a tear in the Veil?”

Nyssa pointed to the spot on the map; a junction of two small streams east of the camp.

“Here,” zie said. “A rift opened in a temple I was exploring. I managed to seal the ruin, but I can’t mend the tear in the Veil itself. I’m told that power lies solely with you.”

“Who told you—“ Harding began, but Lavellan cut her off.

“How did you seal the temple?”

“I’m a mage.” Nyssa had the grace to look guilty as zie pulled the shrunken staff from hir sash. Lavellan and Harding exchanged glances.

“I should have had Barbet search her when they brought her in,” the dwarven woman said with a sigh.

“It’s not your fault,” Lavellan said. His amber eyes fixed on Nyssa with a hint of faint displeasure.

“No, it’s not,” Nyssa replied, “Please—I’m not here to cause trouble. I’m no danger to you, as long as your men keep their hands to themselves.”

Lavellan crossed his arms, cast hir a swift, searching glance... then nodded.

“What were you doing in an ancient ruin?” he said after a moment.

Nyssa let out hir breath slowly, hir fingers unclenching. “It was an elven ruin, and I was studying it. I fled the place when the rift opened, but I managed to seal the entrance. I’ve been watching your camp for the last three days, trying to figure out how to approach you.”

“Three days,” Lavellan repeated, and Harding’s face fell.

“Please, don’t blame your scouts,” Nyssa said quickly. “This is Dalish land; you should know that most of all. I know this area very well, and I’m... used to hiding. I did no more than observe your people. And I promise you I will not be the only one who wants to keep an eye on you.”

(Zie didn’t tell them that zie had already spotted a Dalish scout in a tree opposite the camp two days ago. No need to give away clan secrets, after all.)

Harding folded her arms. “You got anything else to say?”

“Actually, yes,” Nyssa replied, turning to her. “You should double your patrols around the eastern perimeter. And if you capture any Dalish, do not harm them, unless you wish to bring down the wrath of the local clan.”

There was a pause—then Lavellan grinned.

“She’s right,” he said, and gave Harding a light pat on the shoulder. “Don’t be mad, Harding. Better you be tipped off now than risk more trouble in this place. Now... where the hell did Dorian and Iron Bull go?”

“Here, boss!”

The Qunari man and the mage appeared from behind the makeshift food tent, weapons in hand. They glanced Nyssa up and down as they approached. Sizing hir up, probably, Nyssa thought, and watched them approach.

“Dorian, Iron Bull,” Lavellan said. “This is Nyssa. They—she?” he added, glancing at Nyssa, who shrugged. It seemed pointless to attempt explaining hir pronouns. “We’re helping her take care of a rift in one of the ruins nearby. Any objections?”

“Traipsing into a demon-infested ruin?” Dorian said dryly. “Sounds like fun.”

Iron Bull’s scarred mouth twisted into a grin. “Sure, why not. It’s not like we’ve got anything else to kill. Except time, I guess.”

“Right.” Lavellan glanced around. “Where’s Cole?”

A tingle of magic brushed against the back of hir neck, and zie jumped.

_ “Lungs bursting, blistering, breath burning, blood on my lips—” _

Nyssa took two steps back, hand flying to a dagger that was not there. A human man _ — _ no, a boy  _ — _ had appeared before hir without warning. Blue eyes stared at hir from a tangle of limp, blonde hair crammed underneath an enormous hat.

“You were there,” he said. “When the air tore apart and the demons fell out. Monstrous and twisted like the stories your Keeper told.”

“Ah,” the Inquisitor said, with a laugh, “there’s Cole.”

“Don’t scare the poor woman, Cole,” Dorian said. “Let her get used to you.”

“Sorry,” Cole said.

Nyssa touched hir bottom lip tentatively. It was well-healed now, but two weeks ago it had been painful and bloody, and zie hadn’t the time or opportunity to heal it for days. But heal it zie did, and it had left no scar. There was no way for this Cole to know of the injury.

“You can’t see it,” the boy said. His eyes fixed on hir face, bright and curious. “But I  _ feel _ it.”

“You’re a spirit,” Nyssa said. The sense of familiarity had thrown hir for a moment, but there was no other logical explanation: he couldn’t possibly have known those things otherwise.

“ _ Yes _ ,” Cole breathed. “You see me. I’m glad.”

Was it even worth asking what a spirit was doing with the Inquisition? Not like it would matter. Nyssa put it out of hir mind and turned to the Inquisitor, who had been watching the exchange with a neutral expression.

“I can leave when you are ready,” zie said, “and I’ll need my dagger back.”


	2. The Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyssa leads the Inquisition to the elven ruins and finds a surprise—and not the good type.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Lane (@hinabean / @nbimg on tumblr) for betaing!

“I have a question, Nyssa, about the tattoos.”

Nyssa hadn’t been exaggerating when zie said the ruin was nearby, but by the time the Inquisitor and his companions were ready to leave, another half an hour had gone by and zie was growing impatient. Most of hir possessions had been stashed in a closed room in the ruins, but it had been days since zie had dared to venture inside. Who knew what remained of hir things? Zie doubted demons had any respect for personal property.

The Inquisitor seemed content enough to follow Nyssa’s lead through the forest. Dorian the human mage followed close behind, wearing a vaguely disgusted expression as he scooted around moss-covered rocks and rotting foliage. Behind him came the Iron Bull, carrying a large axe over one shoulder, head turning this way and that to watch for movement. The other companion, Cole, flitted between the trees.

It was Dorian who had spoken, or more accurately, shouted from several feet away.

“You would do well to lower your voice,” Nyssa replied, as zie came to a stop before a crumbling archway. “Demons lurk in more places than just this ruin. But yes, you wanted to ask about the _vallaslin?_ ”

“Yes, that. Didn’t that hurt?”

Hir brows furrowed in annoyance, but zie did hir best to curb hir irritation.

“You know, that’s the first thing every human asks me,” zie said, and heard Lavellan chuckle. “Of course they hurt. They were etched into my skin using a sharp stick and ink, and it took hours. My face didn’t feel good afterwards.”

Dorian tutted. “And they say my people are mad.”

“Hey, now,” the Inquisitor said, but he looked amused.

“You are from Tevinter, yes?” Nyssa said.

“What gave me away?”

“Your accent and your clothing. You look like an _altus_.”

“Very good,” the man drawled. “Usually the first question you southerners ask is ‘So you’re a magister?’”

“A magister wouldn’t be caught dead in a place like this,” zie replied, and he laughed.

The archway and the ivy-covered tunnel behind it led to the ruin, and zie’d taken great pains to conceal it before leaving for the Inquisition camp. To even the most discerning eye it seemed nothing more than the remains of what was once something grand.

“A moment, please,” zie said, and pulled out hir shrunken staff. The wood began to twist and grow.

“That’s quite the trick,” Lavellan said.

“I learned it from an old friend.” 

Nyssa wrapped hir fingers around hir staff and breathed deeply, inhaling the smell of the polished wood. Having it with hir was comforting, a reminder that zie was not without power, even amongst powerful people. Zie tapped hir staff on the ground twice and the ivy slithered away from the wall, twisting and curling back on itself. Behind it was an intricately carved door, and barring that was a shimmering green barrier.

“It’s whispering,” a voice in hir ear said, and Nyssa jumped. The boy with the enormous hat stood by hir side, blinking at hir through his hair. Cole, Nyssa reminded hirself. Zie wasn’t usually so bad at remembering names.

“It’s Veilfire,” Lavellan said.

Nyssa glanced at the Inquisitor, a question forming on hir tongue... then paused. Given the events of the last six weeks, perhaps it wasn’t so surprising for a non-mage to have some arcane knowledge. There had to be mages in the Inquisition’s employ who would have studied it.

Nyssa passed hir hand over the door and the barrier sealing it shimmered, then winked out.

“Be ready,” zie warned. “The last time I came here the place was rapidly filling with demons.”

They were barely into the vestibule when several shapes materialised in the darkness.

Spirits and demons were not a new sight to hir. In fact, they had been an unfortunate constant in the Dirth, drawn through the Veil by the echoes of death that lingered. These, though, were mere wraiths, with barely enough strength to hold a corporeal form.

Nyssa stepped into the entrance, and four pairs of glowing eyes turned on hir.

“Begone,” zie said, and spun hir staff. 

A bolt of lightning struck the nearest wraith, lighting up the vestibule in flashes of purple and green. The wraith dissipated with an unearthly shriek, and the lighting arced to another. It collapsed in a plume of black smoke.

The last remaining shade lunged at hir, its maw opening wide – and an arrow struck it between the eyes. It crumbled with a shrill scream.

“Nice shot,” Nyssa said, as Lavellan lowered his bow.

“Thanks. Where to now?”

“The hall, or what’s left of it. Follow me.”

Nyssa led the group through a door left of the main hall, and down the staircase to the lower levels. Zie lit each brazier with Veilfire as they passed it; even the light from hirs and Dorian’s staves weren’t enough to chase away the shadows entirely.

There was an acrid smell on this level—the scent of burning wood and scorched metal. Zie also felt the familiar tingle of the Veil, though it trembled like cloth in a breeze. Nyssa swallowed hard and crushed down the instinctive fear that made every step zie took seem weighted with dread.

“Solid and secure,” Cole said from hir left, and zie fought to keep from starting in surprise. “The walls won’t fall. You can get out of here if you want to. You already did once.”

“Thank you,” Nyssa replied a little stiffly, and tried to ignore the stares zie felt on the back of hir neck. It wouldn’t do for hir new companions to realise just how afraid zie really was.

They turned a corner and there was a thud, then a curse in a guttural tongue.

The Inquisitor stopped. “Bull, are you alright?”

“Yeah, boss. Just hit my horns on the wall. It’s pretty dark back here.”

“I can make you a light,” Nyssa offered.

Iron Bull grunted. 

“No thanks. I’ll just learn to duck.”

“What is this place?” Lavellan asked after a few minutes of walking in silence.

“A shrine to Falon’Din,” Nyssa said, and conjured a mage light. It bobbed behind Iron Bull, who watched it with an apprehensive look.

An orange glow sputtered to life in the darkness ahead of them, and the Inquisitor held up a hand. “Wait.”

“More demons?” Dorian said. “Marvellous.”

Lavellan turned to Nyssa. “Where is the rift?”

“We follow this corridor into the shrine proper. A few minutes’ walk at most.” Zie gestured ahead. “My things are in a room just up ahead. I want to get them before the demons destroy everything flammable.”

“You might be too late,” Iron Bull pointed out, as they drew closer. “Smoke usually means something’s on fire. Or was.”

Nyssa rushed forward, cursing, and pushed past the Inquisitor. Hir mage light bobbed after hir as zie ran down the hall. 

One, two—three. The third room was where zie had stored hir things, and it was—

“ _Fenhedis!_ ”

The door was hanging off the hinges of the room, blackened and still smoking. Nyssa flung out hir hand and the wood crumbled into ash and charcoal. A rush of heat swept over hir as zie stopped in hir tracks at the threshold.

The room had been a small study for a priest or a Keeper of Falon’Din in times past, and it was a treasure trove of knowledge: crammed with books and scrolls of varying ages, all of which Nyssa had been cataloguing. What was left of them drifted from the stone shelves in ashes, landing on the blackened streaks covering the floor and walls. Nyssa caught sight of hir pack on the small bed, reduced to a few charred leather straps, and sagged in defeat.

Footsteps in the corridor told hir the others had caught up. Lavellan leaned over hir shoulder and surveyed the room, brows furrowed.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Nyssa said stiffly. Hir palm began to sting; zie suddenly realised zie had burned hir hand on the stone doorframe. “A demon of rage, maybe. It destroyed all of my work. And my supplies, it seems.”

“I’m sorry.”

Nyssa turned and blinked up at him in surprise. “It’s not _your_ fault, Inquisitor. What have you to be sorry for?”

“It seems like a lot was lost.” Lavellan laid a hand on hir shoulder, a brief, tentative gesture of sympathy. “If you need a moment to get your things... ”

“There’s nothing to get.” Zie sighed. “Let’s just go.”

“Boss,” Iron Bull called from outside. “More demons coming our way.”

Lavellan went back out into the hall and Nyssa followed, rubbing hir burned hand to heal it.

Flashing blue lights danced around the darkened hall as Nyssa’s and Dorian’s arcane conjurations weaved around their heads. There was a grunt, a shriek of rage and a wet thud from somewhere up ahead.

“Never mind,” Iron Bull said. “Dorian and I just kicked the crap out of them.”

Lavellan laughed. “You didn’t save any for me.”

“Sorry, boss. You’re more likely to hit us than the demons in this light.”

“Can’t have everything, I suppose.” Lavellan glanced into the darkness, beyond the silhouette of Iron Bull’s horned head. “Come on. We have a rift to close.”

* * *

The rift was bigger than Nyssa remembered.

Maybe it had been a trick of hir imagination—zie could have exaggerated its size in hir mind as zie’d fled the shrine. Or maybe it had grown, which was the more likely explanation.

Once zie threw open the heavy doors, several pairs of glowing eyes lit up in the darkness. There were the demons, just as zie remembered them: a demon of rage, two wraiths and a terror, a thing of spindly limbs and skin stretched tight over twisted bones.

As the others moved into formation, Nyssa was stuck again by how well they worked as a group. Iron Bull drew the demons’ attention while Lavellan peppered them with well-placed arrows. Cole worked close by, his daggers flashing as he faded in and out of the shadows to chop through clawed hands and stab withered flesh. Dorian cast his spells with far more flash than was necessary, but his spells kept demons weakened—and left them vulnerable to Nyssa’s magic.

Zie had assumed upon seeing the Inquisitor’s companions that they were hired mercenaries or people who owed him a favour somehow, but it seemed more than that. They acted more like friends than subordinates, and even in the midst of battle it showed. It was... intriguing.

But that could wait for later. The shrine had become a battlefield; on one side Lavellan, Cole and Iron Bull cut their way through demons, on the other Dorian and Nyssa filled the chamber with the colours of their magic. In the middle was the rift: a swirling, chaotic burst of green light, beyond which Nyssa could see glimpses of the Fade itself. Despite the battle zie found hirself staring at it, wondering how exactly it worked. If only zie had time to study it—

Suddenly the rift pulsed with a sound almost like a heartbeat, and in hir peripheral vision Nyssa saw a wraith disintegrate into ashes. Then a shimmering vortex appeared beneath hir feet and zie stumbled back, barely missing the burst of energy that followed.

“Hurry!” Dorian shouted at hir. “Dispel those before more demons come through!”

Nyssa swept hir staff in a wide arc, creating a wave of energy that dissolved two portals in a burst of light. The third zie extended hir hand towards, hir fingers moving as zie drew a glyph over it.

Dorian plunged his staff into the middle of the fourth and turned to the fifth, magic crackling—but it was too late. The portal opened and a cloaked figure rose from within.

A demon of despair, Nyssa realised, and took a few cautious steps back. Zie had only seen such a demon once or twice before.

A blast of cold air sent goosebumps rushing over hir skin. Nyssa raised hir hand and the icy hail that followed battered against hir barriers. The demon shuffled across the ground toward hir, its gnarled feet sliding over the mosaic tiles. Why it chose to walk instead of glide was anyone’s guess—zie pushed the idle thought aside as a shout reached hir ears.

“Fire in the hole!”

Zie barely had time to enforce hir barriers when something exploded near hir, showering the despair demon in what looked like flaming pitch.

“Ha!” Iron Bull bellowed as the creature shrieked. “Hey, boss! Hurry up and seal this thing!”

Lavellan appeared in Nyssa’s view, his armour splattered with ichor. He lifted his hand, free of its gauntlet, and his palm lit up. From it came white-green tendrils of magic that reached for the rift even as the torn Veil drew towards it. Both magical energies connected, flowing back and forth—then the Inquisitor pulled his hand back and the rift disappeared.

“Well,” Nyssa commented, when there was silence. “ _That_ would do it.”

* * *

The trip back to camp was made largely in silence. Nyssa let hir pace slow, as zie was no longer needed to guide them, and let hir thoughts wander.

So far almost nothing about the Inquisition had been what zie expected. Zie had assumed it was like its predecessor, another movement for the religious and powerful headed by a zealot. Instead zie had found a fledgling organization lead by a Dalish elf, one of hir own people, who did not look at hir like zie was an inconvenience or a threat. It was sad that basic respect was such a surprise, but Nyssa had curbed hir expectations long ago. 

“Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?”

Nyssa glanced at Dorian as he appeared alongside hir. For a man who had just fought off demons he looked remarkably clean, with not even a hair out of place. His tunic wasn’t even dirty.

“I don’t understand the question,” zie said, and winced as zie stood on a sharp rock. “Why would I?”

Dorian hummed. “News takes a while to reach the Exalted Plains, I suppose.”

“He’s talking about the Venatori,” Lavellan called from up ahead. “A Tevinter cult. They attacked Haven, along with the remains of the Templar order.”

“Oh. No.”

“No?” Dorian repeated, his moustache twitching. “You’re not curious what someone from Tevinter is doing here? Not even a little?”

Nyssa shrugged. “Curiosity has nothing to do with it. Minding my own business keeps me alive.” Zie walked a little quicker to pull ahead, and Dorian did not comment again. A blessing, as zie was too preoccupied for conversation.

That was elven magic branded in Lavellan’s hand. Nyssa had not been absolutely certain just by seeing the Breach, especially not from such a distance, but zie had felt the familiar pull of hir people’s magic. Worse, Nyssa thought with dread, zie suspected what had caused it. If zie was right... 

Well, zie didn’t want to think about that just yet. 

Nyssa stopped the Inquisitor just outside of the camp’s entrance and let Iron Bull, Dorian and Cole pass by before speaking.

“ _Ma serannas_ ,” zie said. “With the rift closed, the ruins can be left alone as they should be.”

“I’m sorry about your things,” Lavellan replied.

Nyssa shrugged. “We are more than our possessions. I didn’t lose everything, and considering what’s happening in the world now, my loss is of very little consequence.”

“What will you do now?”

Nyssa frowned, opened hir mouth to speak... then stopped. A simple question shouldn’t have been enough to make hir hesitate. Yet, for the first time in five years, zie didn’t have a ready answer.

“I don’t know,” zie admitted. “I thought I had a purpose doing what I was doing before, but if it was so easily lost... perhaps not. But rather than wander around aimlessly, I could be of use to the Inquisition.”

Lavellan stopped in the middle of rolling his shoulders.

“You want to join?” he asked.

Nyssa nodded. The idea had been on the edge of hir mind the last few hours, but with hir labours of the last few weeks destroyed, zie didn’t have many other options, and there was the matter of what zie suspected about the Breach.

“I keep in touch with Dalish clans all over Thedas,” zie said. “I’m confident I can persuade at least some of them to come to the Inquisition’s aid.”

A flash of interest passed over Lavellan’s expression, and he nodded. “We _have_ had trouble contacting a lot of clans. You know what our people are like. Most think the Inquisition is a Chantry organisation.”

“Isn’t it?”

The Inquisitor did not look offended at the pointed question, only thoughtful. “It is true we began on a writ from the human Divine, I’ll grant you that. But I am neither a puppet, nor a dictator.” He blinked down at hir, then smiled. “It’s a collective effort. Manned by an awful lot of _shemlen_ , but they’re good folk for the most part.”

“Fair enough. Then I will still join, if you’ll have me. As for my own skills, our battle should be a fair enough demonstration, yes?”

“I don’t doubt your skills,” Lavellan replied with a smile. “Or your knowledge.”

“What I also _know_ is that mark of yours is borne of elven magic,” zie continued, and the other elf’s eyebrows quirked in surprise. “And I suspect I also know the artefact that created it. So,” zie finished, and fixed the Inquisitor with an even stare. “What do you say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fenhedis - elven. A common curse.  
> Ma serannas - elven. 'My thanks'.  
> Vallaslin - elven. The facial tattoos every Dalish elf receives when they come of age.  
> Altus - Tevene. A noble-born mage.


	3. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyssa meets Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ever wondered why a Dalish Inquisitor might need to ask Solas about elven history? Here's my answer! Ghil is a hunter (rogue Archer), and has a basic knowledge of elven history and language. Because he was a hunter and didn't need to study in-depth, he has some gaps in his knowledge. Nyssa was trained as a Keeper and had to know elven history, language, culture etc in-depth, and frankly knows more about the Dalish than Solas. There, I said it. Think of it like a layman versus a rabbi situation, in which Nyssa is a rabbi. 
> 
> Not rabbit. Rabbi.
> 
> (Many thanks to @hinabean / @nbimg for betaing!)

The sun had begun to set not long after Nyssa and the Inquisitor’s party returned to camp. Far from slowing down, the place only became busier: soldiers changed shifts, scouts began to return from the Plains, and the smell of roasting meat filled the air as the cooks began to prepare the evening meal. Despite the rapidly fading light, the Inquisitor headed straight for the cluttered table in the centre of camp. Iron Bull and Dorian followed.

Nyssa hesitated, caught between curiosity and a desire not to overstep boundaries—then hurried after hir new associates. The worst they could do was tell hir to go away.

“How did it go?” Harding asked, as Lavellan, Dorian, Bull and Nyssa gathered around the table.

“Sealed,” Lavellan said promptly. He launched into an account of the mission they’d undertaken, and Nyssa let hir mind wander as zie examined the map.

“Good. That’s one sorted.” Harding pointed at the map. “I’ve reports of other Fade rifts here and here. The other scouts haven’t reported back yet, but I doubt that’s all of them. All the reports mention other things in the Plains. Demons, corpses, Orlesians.”

Lavellan stared down at the map with his brows furrowed, chewing on his lip thoughtfully. 

“What do we actually know about this region?” he asked after a moment. His fingers curled around a rough wooden token pinned to the map just over Riel. “Not just the recent events. A place like this doesn’t just collapse on its own overnight.”

Harding indicated Nyssa with a jerk of her head. “For that, asking your new friend is your best bet. Dalish Keepers know their history.”

A pause, and all eyes turned to Nyssa. Zie took a deep breath.

“I didn’t quite reach that rank,” zie said, “but I know the history. Do you want the short version or the long version?”

“What’s the short version?”

“The short version is that our people were given the Dales, lived here for three hundred years and were crushed by a holy war, which caused permanent damage to the land.”

“Well, I know  _ that _ ,” Lavellan replied, his lips twitching. “I was hoping for something more in-depth.”

Nyssa smiled. “Very well. Do you know the story of Andraste? The historical account I mean, not that book of purple prose the Chantry preaches.”

“Don’t let the Seeker hear you say that,” Harding muttered, as the others chuckled. Lavellan ignored their laughs, only nodding silently.

“Good,” Nyssa continued. “Then you know that after the death of Andraste, the Dales were gifted to Shartan’s people in thanks for their assistance in the war. Many elven slaves left the Imperium, travelled to the Dales and founded its capital, Halamshiral. For context, this occurred prior to the spread of Andrastianism, perhaps around two hundred years before. You might know this date as around a thousand years after the founding of the Tevinter Imperium,” zie added, with a nod to Dorian. 

“One thousand and twenty five years, precisely.”

“Good. You know your history.”

“I had an obnoxiously thorough education.” Dorian didn’t look pleased at that fact, only bored—an observation Nyssa packed away for later. “Don’t stop on my account.”

Zie hesitated, casting a glance at Lavellan’s patient expression. Best not to overwhelm the man with too much information, zie thought. Stick to what’s relevant.

“The Orlesian Chantry called an Exalted March on the Dales around three hundred years after its founding,” zie continued. “They crushed our people, forcing them either to submit to human rule or to wander without a homeland. The elves who did not submit became the Dalish... and the result is what you see today. There are many ruins in this place, elven and human alike. In recent months, the Empress and Duke Gaspard have been squabbling over it.”

Dorian made a face. “It figures most of the fighting happened here instead of Orlais. Though why anyone would want a place full of walking corpses is beyond me.”

“They’re Orlesians,” Nyssa said. “It’s all for the Grand Game.”

“Quite.”

“Anyway, as I’ve said, there are many places of importance for my people as well as humans. Ville Montevelan comes to mind. The east and west ramparts. I’ve seen... ” Nyssa closed hir eyes, trying to recall the memories. “I have put down wandering corpses, some of them no more than bones strung together with magic. Demons of rage and despair. A fear demon over near the Dalish encampment. I had to flee from an  _ era’harel _ —an arcane horror—that took up residence in one of the ramparts.”

“Dalish?” Lavellan repeated, then nodded. “Ah, I remember.”

“South of here, by the river. I know their Keeper; I worked with him a few weeks ago.”

“We should go see them, boss,” Iron Bull said.

Nyssa straightened up in alarm. “No, you absolutely should not.”

Scout Harding frowned. “Why?”

“This place is a mess right now,” zie said, with an exasperated glance at Iron Bull. “If the Dalish so much as spot a single mercenary within a hundred feet of their camp, they will fill you with arrows before you can say so much as a hello.”

Iron Bull grumbled. “Trigger happy little assholes.”

“Bringing a score of armed forces near a Dalish camp would be a foolish move,” Nyssa said heatedly. “It would be tantamount to suicide.”

“Too many people hurting,” Cole said, and the others looked at him. He stared off to the right, at the broken archways framing the camp’s eastern perimeter. “Harming, hacking open a hole for the demons to pour in. They’re afraid.”

“Who, the demons?” Harding asked.

“No. Yes? Sorry.”

“If I may make a suggestion,” Nyssa said. “I can go to the camp and speak to the Keeper. Perhaps if I can convince him to make an alliance... ”

The Inquisitor held up a hand, and the others fell silent.

“Nyssa is right,” he said. “We’ll wait until Solas gets here.”

* * *

“Who is this Solas?” Nyssa asked.

Once the sun set and the light faded, they moved to the central campfire and took the evening meal; joints of roasted meat, potatoes and a salad of arugula and wilted elfroot. Heavier food than what zie was used to, but zie couldn’t complain: it was free.

Dorian and Iron Bull sat on one side on makeshift stools. Lavellan sat on the other, long legs splayed to one side, mopping up gravy with a crust of bread. Nyssa sat between them on the ground, plate balanced on hir knees.

“He’s an elven mage,” Lavellan said between mouthfuls. “He’s been helping the Inquisition since the Temple of Sacred Ashes was destroyed.”

“Is he Dalish? Or from the Circles?”

“No. He’s... well, you’ll see, anyway. He’ll be here in two days, assuming nothing delays him.” Lavellan glanced at Dorian. “You can head back to Skyhold, Dorian. I assume you’d rather not stay out here?”

Dorian made a face. “A tempting offer, but would I choose grubbing in the mud over the library at Skyhold? Please. Solas can run around this place talking to all the spirits he wants.”

Nyssa perked up at that. “He is a spirit medium?”

“Dorian is joking,” Lavellan said, with a roll of his eyes. “Solas has some... unusual ideas about spirits, but he certainly knows a lot about the Fade. And speaking of knowing a lot... ”

The elven man trailed off, but his eyes remained fixed on Nyssa with a shrewd gaze. “I think it’s time you tell me about that artifact you mentioned.”

Zie took a deep breath and forced hirself to calm.

“The  _ dirth’ena evanuris _ ,” zie said. The term had a literal translation, ‘secrets of the Evanuris’, but the actual meaning was beyond hir ability to explain to those who didn’t know the language. “An ancient relic of elven origin, dating back to before the fall of Arlathan.”

Another pause. Lavellan, Iron Bull and Dorian all had eyes on hir now.

“They are supposed to be capable of incredible power,” zie continued. “Theoretically, enough magical energy channelled into such an artifact could create a catastrophic tear in the Veil. Though... I doubt that was its intended purpose.”

Dorian and Iron Bull eventually went to seek their beds as the Inquisitor and Nyssa talked into the night. Lavellan asked hir the basic questions zie had expected—where was hir clan settled? What was zie doing in the Dales? What kind of spells did zie cast? 

Nyssa hadn’t been looking to deceive, so zie answered honestly and was impressed by the man’s cunning. Zie had little knowledge of what to expect from a Dalish elf so far removed from his clan, but zie supposed it would be unfair to judge him based on that. It had been a long time since zie had seen hir clan, and months since zie had spoken to any Dalish other than the locals.

“I have a curiosity,” Nyssa said eventually, after the campfire began to die down, and a young servant took their plates to be washed. “How does a Dalish elf come to attend a Conclave for the Chantry?”

Lavellan shrugged. “Keeper Deshanna sent three of us to the Conclave to observe the negotiations, including her First. I was the only one who survived; Ellana and Mahanon didn’t make it.”

“ _ Falon’Din enasal enaste _ ,” Nyssa murmured, with a look of sympathy. “Losing our people is never easy.”

“Yes.” Lavellan sighed heavily. “But they were two among thousands of people who perished. There were many at the Conclave, not just mages and templars. Dwarves from the Carta, human nobles. Soldiers. Even Tal-Vashoth.”

“Oh?” 

Zie had heard of the Tal-Vashoth—Qunari who refused to follow the Qun and were considered outcasts. They had been a menace around Sundermount for many years.

Lavellan glanced at hir, sensing hir interest. “You’ve seen them before?”

“Once,” Nyssa replied. “Years ago, the hunters brought a captive into our camp in the Vimmarks. A Qunari, the only survivor of a group that mounted an attack on one of the aravels. Traveling wagons, or landships, as the humans call them.”

“I take it that didn’t end well.”

“They executed him, I think.” Zie cast him an embarrassed glance. “I was only nine, and they would never do such things in front of the children. Normally they would have sent him off into the mountains, but his party killed two boys who tried to protect the aravel.”

“Ah. Well, you can hardly call him an innocent man, then,” Lavellan said, and stood. “We can put that information of yours to good use when we head out tomorrow. When you retire, there’s a tent next to mine.”

Nyssa nodded, and the Inquisitor turned and walked away, greeting a passing soldier with a friendly murmur.

Zie leaned back on hir hands and gazed at the sky above. Smoky haze hung over the camp, from the half dozen fires set up for the soldiers and scouts and for the food, but the night sky was clear as always. 

It had been weeks since zie had seen a view of the sky unobscured by tree canopies or closed-in spaces. Perhaps zie was forgetting what it was like to be Dalish—now there was an unpleasant idea. 

Nyssa got to hir feet with a heavy sigh. Joining the Inquisition likely meant zie would have to sleep in buildings and tents for the foreseeable future. A small inconvenience for a much greater purpose, zie thought, as zie headed in the direction Lavellan had left. Still, it remained to be seen how  _ great _ the Inquisition really was.

* * *

Two days passed, and their little party worked themselves to the bone from dawn to dusk.

The information zie had given the Inquisition paid off; they paid a visit to the western ramparts and cleared the place of restless corpses and the cursed  _ era’harel _ zie had fled from a week earlier.

The Dirth was a mess: destroyed villages, bands of roaming deserters, burned trees and demons leaving trails of destruction wherever they went. It hurt hir to see the elves’ historic land used and scarred and repurposed for greed and bloodshed, but... it was an old hurt, easily buried behind a veneer of numb indifference. What mattered at the moment was restoring order in the region, and ensuring those who still lived in the Dales could be safe. Humans most of them might be, but they had done no wrong that could justify forcing them from their homes.

The Inquisition set up a secondary camp that Scout Harding named ‘Riverwatch’, nearer to Ville Montevelan and the nearby Fade rifts, and most of the scouts and soldiers moved there. It was a little more open than Nyssa would have liked, given the regular appearance of demons and wolves along the river banks. To hir surprise the Inquisitor and Harding agreed to double the patrols, and so far there had been only one skirmish.

The human scout’s pale, sweaty face rose over the horizon of his breastplate.

“How bad is it?” he asked, voice shaking. His expression twisted into a grimace when zie elevated his leg on a spare rolled blanket.

“Not bad.” This was the truth. The young man had taken a sword cut to the leg in the aforementioned tussle _ — _ a brief clash with some Freemen out to cause trouble. One of Harding’s scouts had woken hir; another had gone to fetch a bucket of water and embrium. The wound was nothing some stitches couldn’t fix.

Nyssa conjured an arcane light above their heads and focused on cleaning the cut, blocking out the sounds of the camp rousing around them. The scout kept himself raised on his elbows to watch, his only reaction the occasional grimace when zie pressed a little too hard on the wound. Finally zie retrieved hir healer’s kit, washed hir hands and began to stitch it closed. 

After the first few deep sutures the scout lay back down, face white as a sheet. “Don’t think I want to watch that.”

Nyssa laughed softly.

“Fascinating,” said a voice from behind hir.

Physician’s training kept hir from flinching as zie carefully maneuvered the curved needle through the skin. The voice had a smooth cadence and hint of an accent zie couldn’t quite place, and zie was certain zie had not heard it in either of the Inquisition camps before. One of the other scouts perhaps, returning to report to Harding. Evidently the hasty medical treatment had caught his eye.

The scout zie was treating glanced over Nyssa’s shoulder, but made no protest at the extra pair of eyes on him. He lay back with a bored sigh and turned to watch the bustle of the camp.

Leather and fabric creaked as the person behind hir leaned closer. “What is the purpose of the suture you placed at the apex of the wound?”

“To anchor it,” Nyssa replied. Hir eyes never left hir work, though curiosity prodded at hir to turn and see who the voice belonged to. “When his stitches are removed, I can cut the knot and the thread will come out with ease. Or someone else can do it, I suppose, though I would prefer to finish my own work.”

“Aren’t you a mage or somethin’?” the scout piped up. “Can’t you just heal it?”

“For a tiny little cut like this? Nonsense. Not worth the effort.” 

Nyssa secured the last stitch, wiped the wound and applied a bandage soaked in a mixture of crushed elfroot and embrium.

“Now,” zie said, addressing the scout directly. “Leave this on until tomorrow morning, then you may remove and wash it off gently. Keep it dry otherwise. You’re not to do any fighting or running, in case your stitches pop. Light duties around camp for five days, then you can return to the Plains. Do you understand?”

“No scouting for five days, don’t bathe.”

Nyssa grimaced. “You’re allowed to  _ bathe _ , just keep your wound dry. If it itches, see me for a salve.”

The scout thanked hir and left, and zie began to tidy up hir tools. No voice from behind hir, but zie could feel their presence mere feet away. Then moments later they spoke again.

“ _ Are _ you familiar with healing magic?”

“Yes.” Zie poured a little alcohol into the bowl zie had commissioned from the cooks, and dropped in hir forceps and needle. From across the camp zie could now hear the Inquisitor’s voice as he spoke to the requisition officer. “I told him the truth. Using magic to heal a wound that small is a waste of my energy, and it does not do anyone good to rely too much upon it. His body must learn to heal itself.”

“Hmm,” they replied, and something about the soft hum of their voice made hir flush unexpectedly. Zie looked over hir shoulder and laid eyes on the speaker for the first time. An elven man, wearing simple traveler’s garb, with a wolf pelt tied over one shoulder. Striking blue eyes crinkled as he smiled at hir.

Nyssa blinked, the blush spreading to hir ears.

“Solas!” Lavellan called, and the man glanced up. Boots crunched on dry grass as the Inquisitor approached, dressed in his dark leathers and carrying a bow. “Oh, I see you’ve met Nyssa.”

After hearing the name Solas spoken with no small measure of respect, zie had been half-expecting a powerful persona; perhaps a Keeper from a clan zie didn’t know about, or — though less likely — an Enchanter or Archmage from the Circles.

“Indeed,” Solas replied. He stood, bent to retrieve the bowl and handed it to Nyssa, who accepted it with a quiet thanks. “I passed Dorian on the road a day prior, and he mentioned you were receiving assistance from a Dalish clan in the area. I take it you are here on their behalf,” he added, addressing Nyssa directly.

His accent was... odd. It wasn’t unusual for city elves to retain the accent of the region they lived in; most spoke little to no elven. The clans spoke varying degrees of elven, but like Inquisitor Lavellan, most had a rolling lilt to their voices that marked them as Dalish. Nyssa hirself had the same, though traces of Starkhaven brogue crept in from time to time.

“ _ Andaran atish’an, lethallen _ ,” Nyssa said formally, and Solas inclined his head. So he understood elven, too. “I’m not from the local clan. I just happen to know their Keeper.”

“Nyssa helped us clear out a Fade rift we missed,” Lavellan said, “and offered to speak to the Keeper on the Inquisition’s behalf. I would want you to be there, also.”

“Of course,” Solas replied, “but there is the matter of what we spoke of... ”

“And that’s why I’m all ready to go. Iron Bull and Cole are waiting.”

Nyssa didn’t miss the naked relief on Solas’s face. “Thank you, Inquisitor.”

There was a story there, for certain. Nyssa excused hirself and hurried back to hir tent to grab hir things. 

No doubt learning more about this Solas would be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Falon'Din enasal enaste - elven. A blessing for the dead.  
> Lethallen - elven, used to mean 'kin' or 'clansman'. Lethallen is the gender neutral term, which Nyssa uses by default.


	4. All New, Faded For Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyssa, Ghil, Solas, Cole, Iron Bull and Dorian fight a pride demon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings - minor, implied sexual reference, depictions of death, some violence.

“If I may,” Nyssa asked, “what exactly are we doing?”

Their party left camp not long after dawn and followed the river south. After two days of working for the Inquisition, zie assumed Lavellan would be the one to lead. It was he who usually scouted ahead, eyes up and scanning the surrounding rocks for danger. This time Solas took the lead, striding along with a wild impatience that seemed oddly out of character, even from the brief impression zie had of him.

“We’re on a rescue mission.”

Zie did not pause at Iron Bull’s voice, knowing it would only take a few steps for him to catch up. Although Nyssa was small even for an elf, and had to tilt hir head to meet his eye. He was the first Qunari zie had come into such close contact with, and zie had never realised how  _ massive _ they were.

“A rescue mission? Who are we rescuing?”

Iron Bull grunted. “Some friend of Solas’s got captured around here. Don’t ask me how he knows where to look... I’m guessing it has to do with Fade crap.”

Zie had to grin at ‘Fade crap’. The Qunari showed no small amount of aversion towards the spirits and demons they’d put down in the past two days, but zie could hardly blame him. Zie knew very well what it was like to see creatures from your deepest nightmares come alive before you. To most people, demons were no more than creatures of horror stories; something to be told over campfires at midnight. At least until the Breach had appeared in the sky. 

“We’re helping Solas’s friend,” Lavellan called from up front. “It was captured by mages and bound into servitude.”

“It?” Nyssa repeated, puzzled. “Oh, it’s a spirit?”

“Yes. Or... ”

Lavellan paused so suddenly he almost skidded, his boots kicking up dust from the path. Ahead Solas had stopped also, and dropped into a crouch by the side of the path. Nyssa walked ahead curiously, reaching into hir sash.

“One of the mages,” Solas said. “Killed by arrows, it would seem.”

“Everything here is blurry,” Cole said softly, and lifted his head. “It wants to forget, but the rocks are solid.”

Lavellan drew his bow. “What do you see, Cole?”

“I don’t. But I can feel it. Bound, binding, blinding, seeking the sky. Not the same.” He repeated the last sentence to himself, eyes darting about.

Nyssa kneeled by Solas and lifted hir scarf to cover hir mouth and nose. The corpse lay facedown, its robes stained crimson by three arrows buried in its back. Zie turned the dead man over with a nudge from hir staff, noting the slack mouth and stiff limbs.

“Dead for no more than two days at most,” zie observed. “Likely bandits. There are a few around, raiding the villages.”

Nyssa noted Lavellan’s gaze up the path and followed it. He was a Dalish hunter by trade. Tracking was not an easy task if you hadn’t the training, but a skilled eye could pick out even the most subtle details: trampled grass, footprints, scuff marks.

“This way,” he said, and indicated they should follow.

* * *

They found the next two corpses not five hundred feet away. It was easy to see what had happened to them—they were no more than burned, twisted husks. Nyssa dropped to the ground beside them and bent closer, wrinkling hir nose at the smell of scorched flesh. Zie noted slashes across their back and arms. Blood soaked into the grass and dirt around them, spattered over the twigs and foliage.

“These aren’t mages,” Solas murmured.

Nyssa pointed at a great slash mark in the nearest body’s skin, barely recognisable on the tattered, blackened flesh. “No fire would have caused that blood spray. These are claw marks. This one was cut down while running, most likely.”

Solas jerked upright, stumbling back as if the body had risen up and attacked him.

“ _ No _ ,” he said, a strangled sound forced through gritted teeth. “No, no, no.”

“What is it, Solas?” Lavellan asked from somewhere behind them, but the other elf didn’t seem to hear. He surged ahead, breaking into a trot. Rocks littered the path up ahead, forcing him to slow, but he didn’t stop at the Inquisitor calling his name. Iron Bull and Cole followed promptly, weapons at the ready, and with a sigh Nyssa stood and followed. 

They were closer to the river bank now, and the dirt path became uneven and treacherous, until it became easier for hir to hop from stone to stone than to walk between them. Then Solas stopped, fingers slackening so quickly he almost dropped his staff, and gasped.

“My friend!”

Nyssa looked up, cursed and almost slipped on the moss that coated the stone beneath hir feet.

A glowing stone jutted from the ground not twenty feet away, pulsing with an eerie blue-green light. Zie could almost see the strands of magic connecting with it and wrapping around; zie followed hir gaze to another stone a few feet away, and to another two closer to the river. Together they made a circle—no, a summoning trap, Nyssa realised. Something zie had seen in books but never had the use for. Within the trap was a hulking figure. Its spiked outline showed clearly as a silhouette against the mid-morning sun.

A frustrated curse burst from Solas’s mouth, and for a moment zie thought he may run ahead again. Evidently Lavellan thought the same, for he laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder. Whether it was a warning or a comfort, zie couldn’t say.

“The mages turned your friend into a demon,” the Inquisitor said quietly.

For a moment, Solas didn’t answer. Now that Nyssa had caught up, zie could see the naked fury on his face: a muscle in his jaw worked, his chest rose and fell rapidly, and his nostrils flared. Power radiated from him in waves, making the hairs stand up on hir arms and the back of hir neck. 

There was  _ something  _ about the way his magic felt. A sense of familiarity zie couldn’t place, and it sent such waves of anxious fear through hir that zie had to stamp down the overwhelming urge to flee. How could anyone else not sense it? Iron Bull and Lavellan stood in his presence without batting an eyelid, and Cole... where was Cole? Finally zie spotted him standing on the rocks near the circle, observing the demon. Zie stepped back, turning hir hasty retreat into a search for a better view. 

The creature in the summoning circle looked like a demon of pride, the quintessential ferocious monster that mundanes spoke of in their tales of possession and blood magic. This demon had dropped to one knee, breath puffing from its nostrils. Its claws dug furrows into the ground and its spiked shoulders heaved.

“Eurgh,” Iron Bull said from behind hir, and Nyssa glanced over hir shoulder. “Knew it would be a fuckin’ demon.”

“What’s the problem?” Nyssa asked him. “You’ve got muscles enough to put up a decent fight. You don’t think you could kick a pride demon’s arse?”

Iron Bull’s smile turned lecherous. “You like my muscles, eh? You want me to flex them for you?”

Nyssa let out a startled chuckle, though the invitation didn’t surprise hir. It wasn’t the first he’d made. Zie had caught him checking out hir ass at least twice while walking around the Plains, and his eye had lingered on hir a little too long across the campfire—when he wasn’t looking at Dorian or Lavellan, that was.

(Nyssa didn’t blame him for the interest. Lavellan was pleasing to look at, but zie recognised the lingering looks that passed between him and Dorian. Zie had absolutely no chance there, and likely Iron Bull didn’t either).

The man was probably as big as his height indicated, though, and for a second zie had to wonder just how  _ that _ particular experiment would go. Like being spit-roasted, Nyssa thought, and choked back hysterical laughter. It wouldn’t do to wound his pride with ill-timed amusement.

“I’ll keep it in mind,” zie managed.

Dry grass crunched under tentative booted footsteps, and Nyssa glanced over hir shoulder. A human in dusty robes approached Solas and Lavellan, his face covered in day-old scruff. Zie couldn’t hear what they were saying, but zie recognised the tone of the conversation. Solas’s voice rose and fell angrily, and the rolling lilt of his accent became more and more pronounced. Even Lavellan looked irritated, which was an unusual expression for such a calm man.

“You  _ summoned _ that demon!” Solas shouted at the mage, who could only stutter in response. “Except it was a spirit of wisdom at the time!”

The mage started to speak again, but Solas cut him off. “You made it kill. You twisted it against its purpose!”

“I-I-I understand how it might be confusing to someone who has not studied demons, but—”

“We’re not here to help  _ you _ .”

Lavellan scowled. “Word of advice? I’d hold off on explaining how demons work to my friend here.”

“Listen to me!” the mage snapped. “I was one of the foremost experts in the Kirkwall Circle—”

“ _ Shut up _ .”

This was getting nowhere, Nyssa thought. Zie hopped down from the rock and hurried back over to the group, pulling hir staff from hir sash.

“You summoned it to protect you from the bandits,” Solas said, glaring at the mage. “You bound it to obedience, then commanded it to kill.  _ That _ is when it turned.”

Perhaps zie was not the only one who felt the force of his anger, Nyssa thought, and noted with interest how the human mage’s expression soured. He swallowed, as if trying to force words of protest back down his throat, then muttered, “Yes.”

Solas turned to Lavellan. “If we break the summoning circle, we break the binding. No orders to kill, no conflict with its nature. No demon.”

“Will that work?” Nyssa interrupted.

Solas glanced at hir, brows furrowing, then nodded. “If we disrupt the bindings quickly, then yes. It would require some power, but with enough... ” he glanced at Lavellan. “Inquisitor,  _ please _ . This will work; you have my word.”

The Inquisitor glanced over their shoulders to the summoning circle behind them, where the pride demon climbed to its feet.

“Nyssa,” he said after a moment.

“Yes, Inquisitor.”

“What do you think?”

Zie frowned. “I know little about summoning circles. I’ve never forced a spirit into obedience.”

“I meant about giving Solas a hand,” Lavellan replied impatiently. “I’m not a mage, so clearly I’m useless in this situation.”

Solas looked at hir, his expression strained.

“Of course I will,” Nyssa said. Zie glanced at the demon, eyes darting between the magical bindings, and a plan began to form in hir mind. “You, Cole and Iron Bull can distract the demon, and keep the mages away. They won’t be happy when we break their binding.”

Lavellan’s eyes glinted. He nodded firmly, then raised his voice. “Bull! Cole! We’re on the move.”

As he explained the plan to the others, Nyssa touched Solas’s arm. He blinked down at hir hand, then up at hir.

“Tell me what I need to do,” zie said.

* * *

Nyssa avoided the Fade as a matter of caution, so demon encounters had been rare for hir—at least, until zie had come to the Dirth. Demons were almost commonplace here, and you put your life in your hands if you ventured into the remote areas without an escort.

“Have you never encountered a pride demon?” Solas asked as they approached the summoning circle. Lavellan, Cole and Iron Bull flanked them on the west side, preparing to fan out and do what they could to distract the demon.

“No,” Nyssa said. When his eyebrows raised zie added, “I don’t visit the Fade much outside of dreams.”

“Ah. It can be a great effort, for some.”

“Actually it’s not,” zie said neutrally; it would not do to reveal too much. Solas cast hir a swift, searching look, but Nyssa turned away and indicated the glowing stones. “You take the east and south bindings, I will disrupt the west and north ones.”

Before he could argue, zie closed hir eyes and reached out hir senses.

The summoning circle made the Veil unstable here, and it felt like grasping handfuls of sand as Nyssa pulled it towards hirself. Zie warped the energy around hir, and braced hirself for the familiar squeezing sensation in hir chest. 

The momentum of the spell carried hir forward. The world blurred around hir and reformed in an instant, and zie materialised on the far side of the summoning circle. The demon’s ear-splitting roar greeted hir as zie ended the spell.

“Move!” someone shouted to hir left, and Nyssa dove just in time to avoid a swipe from its clawed hand.

The pride demon threw back its head and roared again. It was a terrifying sight this close—every inch of it armoured and spiked. Nyssa picked hirself up and forced hir breathing to deepen and slow. Zie couldn’t afford to skitter around like a frightened nug.

Lavellan stood on a rock overhead, bow at the ready. His gaze followed the demon as it stumbled, clawing uselessly at an arrow protruding from its shoulder. The shot had meant to distract, not to wound, and it had given hir time to get out of its way.

Magical energy sparked across the circle, and zie heard Solas shout in elven—followed by a grunt of pain as he hit the ground hard.

This wouldn’t do, Nyssa thought, as zie strafed around the edge of the circle. Solas had asked them not to harm the demon if they could, but it was easier said than done to avoid massive flailing arms while breaking the bindings. If zie could just slow it for a second—

Nyssa pulled the Fade toward hir and concentrated. 

Roots erupted from the ground in a shower of dirt, spreading outwards from the centre of the circle. The demon’s leg tangled in the growth and it bellowed in rage, tearing at the plant as it grew rapidly around it.

Plant magic had its uses still, clearly. Not that zie had ever expected to use it while battling a pride demon. Nyssa gestured and two of the roots split off, wrapping around the north binding. One squeeze and it crumbled, and the magic snapped back like a bowstring.

The demon thrashed and howled, tearing free of the roots, and Nyssa broke into a run, ducking between the creature’s legs. If zie could just reach the—

Something hit hir hard from behind, and zie went flying, landing hard on hir side with a dull thud.

“The binding!” Solas shouted; this was followed by another growl from the demon. A glance behind hir showed the creature advancing. Magical energy snapped and sparked in its hand, and hir staff was too far away.

Nyssa pulled the Veil towards hir, drew it taut, then rolled onto hir stomach and released it.

The blast hit the last binding squarely in the centre, and as zie watched, it began to topple. The demon gave a strangled roar, then its outline began to shimmer. Slowly it faded, and in its place was the spirit of wisdom.

To hir the spirit looked like an elven woman, wearing a gown that almost looked like the Fade itself: a floaty, transparent thing made from twisting whorls of glittering green light. The ‘fabric’ moved in ribbons, turning white as it caught the sunlight… but it didn’t look healthy. Its outline wavered weakly as it sank to the ground.

Nyssa climbed to hir feet, ignoring the sting of skinned elbows, and retrieved hir staff. Solas had already kneeled before the spirit, his expression twisted in pain.

“ _ Lethallen _ ,” he said softly. “ _ Ir abelas. _ ”

“ _ Tel’abelas. Enasal. Ir tel’him. _ ” The spirit’s voice sounded more like a sob, trembling as its form wavered. Nyssa swallowed hard as tears came unbidden to hir eyes. “ _ Ma melava halani. Mala suledin nadas. Ma ghilana mir din'an. _ ”

If it looked like an elven woman, zie wasn’t surprised it spoke elven. In hir head zie translated: _ I’m not sorry. I’m happy. I’m me again. You helped me, now you must endure. Guide me into my death. _

Solas closed his eyes briefly, and for a moment he looked tired. Then he nodded. “ _ Ma nuvenin. _ ”

The spirit gave a grateful sigh, and Solas passed a hand over its trembling face. Energy thrummed around them, making the hairs on hir arms stand up.

“ _Dareth shiral_ ,” he said quietly, and the spirit vanished. He remained on his knees, head turned away, and Nyssa averted hir eyes. It seemed intrusive to see him in this moment, not the least because he was a stranger to hir.

A second glance at their surroundings and zie spotted the mage they’d spoken to before, approaching with two others.

“Inquisitor,” zie warned.

Lavellan glanced up, his hand still on Solas’s shoulder, then straightened. His hand drifted to the knives on his pouch.

“Thank you,” said the mage from earlier. He plucked nervously at the collar of his robe. “We would not have risked a summoning, but the roads are too dangerous to travel unprotected—”

“ _ You _ .”

Solas’s voice cut through the mage’s stammering. He climbed to his feet, staff at the ready, and took a step forward.

“You tortured and killed my friend!”

Was anyone going to stop this, Nyssa wondered, as zie glanced between Iron Bull, Cole and Lavellan. Bull kept a carefully neutral expression while cleaning his axe, and Cole just looked confused. Lavellan kept a hand resting on his sash, ready to intervene, but his face mirrored Bull’s.

“We didn’t know it was just a spirit!” the mage cried as Solas advanced. He took a few steps back along with the other mages, faces white with fear. “The book said it could help us!”

Solas slammed the butt of his staff into the ground, and a corona of magic erupted around them. The mages’ screams mingled together with the sound of the spell, and Nyssa felt hir stomach lurch. There was that sense of untapped power again, and the unbearable buzz of his magic made hir heart thunder. Then the spell ended, and the mages were no more than shriveled husks on the ground.

“Damn them all,” Solas growled.

Nyssa held hir breath until hir lungs began to burst, willing hir expression to return to neutral. Solas moved past hir, muttering, ‘I’ll meet you back at Skyhold’, and silently they watched him disappear over the horizon.

“Is he alright?” Lavellan asked finally, when several moments had passed. “Cole?”

“Wisdom knows enduring is pain,” Cole replied. Impossible to tell what he was thinking, but his voice sounded troubled. “He hurts for her, another of many he couldn’t save. He carries necessary deaths.”

“Necessary deaths,” Nyssa repeated under hir breath.

Lavellan glanced at hir. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

That is a very dangerous man, zie thought, as they began the long walk back to camp, whether or not he meant to reveal that. Solas’s anger was a great and vast thing, and beyond it lay a well of power beyond hir understanding. Perhaps Lavellan did not know, or could not sense what zie could.

Zie would have to keep an eye on him.


	5. Tarasyl'an Te'las

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inquisition and its newest member return to Skyhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @himabean / @nbimg on tumblr for betaing!

“This is Skyhold?”

The fortress was larger and admittedly far more impressive than Nyssa could have imagined, especially now that they had finally reached the bridge connecting to the winding path back down the mountain.

It had been a surprisingly pleasant journey from the Dales, if one did not count the freezing wind that had plagued their ride up the mountain path. Or rather, the walk, for there had been no spare horse for Nyssa to ride. There would be a mount provided in future, Inquisitor Lavellan assured hir, but Nyssa didn’t mind. The exercise got hir blood pumping, and the lend of a spare cloak from a fallen scout kept hir warm better than hir own threadbare shawl. It also gave hir the opportunity to observe the Inquisition—and its leader—closely. Even though they had spent over a week in the Dirth, this was the first time they had returned to Skyhold.

“This is it,” Lavellan said. He brought his mount to a halt just past the first gate and let Nyssa past so zie could take it all in.

"Yes,” Nyssa said. “ _ Tarasyl’an te’las _ , it was called in ancient times. The place where the sky was held back.”

“That’s what Solas said, too. You know of its history, I take it.”

Nyssa shrugged. “A little. My  _ hahren _ told me once—” zie cut hirself off; it wouldn’t be smart to reveal too much just yet. “Well, he said it was a ritual site for ancient elves thousands of years ago, but I don’t think the castle was there at the time.”

“The castle came later, yes,” Lavellan replied. “Some of our construction workers found Fereldan and dwarven architecture in the lower levels.”

“Carved dogs and Paragons. An interesting combination.”

As they crossed the bridge there was a faint shout from the ramparts, and the clanking and groaning of the metal gates as they opened. Beyond the gates lay a courtyard framed by the fortress walls. There was a stone staircase leading up to what was presumably the main hall, and the dirt path lead further west into the grounds. Nyssa caught sight of a few stalls and a barn. The faint smell of hay and heated metal mingled with air heavy with rain, though the sun still shone through the clouds.

Zie closed her eyes for a moment and breathed in deeply, inhaling the scents and listening to the activity and—there it was. The Veil thrummed quietly, almost like an undercurrent of sound beneath layers of noise.

“The Veil is very thin here,” zie said.

Lavellan laughed. “Solas says that too.”

_ Solas _ . Nyssa wondered how he was doing since the encounter with his spirit friend. He had been gone by the time they’d returned to camp, and it had been a week since.

"Lady Nyssa?"

Nyssa opened hir eyes to see an elven woman standing before hir, wearing the uniform of the Inquisition, though with leathers in place of armour. She had large dark eyes and a nervous expression.

“Begging your pardon, my lady,” the woman said, “but I’ve been asked to bring you to Sister Nightingale.  _ As soon as they return _ , she said.”

“Who is Sister Nightingale?” Nyssa asked Lavellan.

“Our spymaster,” the Inquisitor replied, as he dismounted. “She’s a good sort. She sees everyone who walks through these gates.”

Of course the Inquisitor would have sent word ahead of their return, especially if his new recruit was a mage. Nyssa’s hint about knowing what created the Breach had no doubt raised a few eyebrows also.

“If it can wait,” Nyssa said, “I have some things to unpack.”

“There’s people to do that for you, my lady,” said the messenger. “Your belongings will be taken to your quarters. The spymaster wants to see you now.”

There would be no avoiding it, then. Nyssa sighed. “Very well.”

The messenger lead Nyssa through the small crowd and up the stone stairs into the upper courtyard. There were more buildings on this level, and the acrid smell of hot metal was stronger. Zie noted stairs to the ramparts, and another staircase leading into the castle proper. It was those stairs the messenger took.

“How did you come to join the Inquisition?” Nyssa asked as zie followed the woman.

“I have a sister in the kitchens, my lady,” the woman replied. “We joined at the same time. I got picked for runner since I was faster. I get three meals a day and a roof over my head, so I can’t complain.” She eyed Nyssa. “Begging your pardon, my lady, but are you one of them Dalish?”

“Yes, I am. It was the tattoos that gave me away, right?”

“Right,” said the elven woman, and Nyssa smiled at her.

The main hall was so enormous zie could barely see the ceiling. Long tables were laid along the walls and crowds of humans in Orlesian and Marcher clothing chattered amongst themselves. At the far end was an empty chair decorated with Inquisition livery.

The messenger led hir through the hall and into a room on the left, which opened to what looked like a sitting room or an office of some sort. A woman sat at a desk near the fireplace, her dark head bent over a piece of parchment. She didn’t look up as Nyssa and the messenger passed by, heading to the next corridor. At the end was an enormous, intricately carved wooden door, with a smaller door set into it. The messenger opened the smaller door and let Nyssa in.

The room beyond was made of simple stone and almost bare, save for a large polished wooden table in the centre, upon which lay a large map. Leaning over it was a human woman with short red hair talking to Solas. At the other end of the table stood a tall woman with cropped dark hair and intense eyes. In the corner, a man wearing Templar regalia. Nyssa’s heart began to pound as all four turned to look at hir.

“Lady Nyssa, Spymaster,” the messenger said.

“Thank you, Calista,” said the red-haired woman. “Please go to see Varric and remind him that I need that letter. He’ll know which one.”

Nyssa swallowed the lump in hir throat as Calista left, shutting the door quietly behind her. For a moment all five people regarded each other in silence.

Zie had been expecting this, and yet zie couldn’t stop the tightness growing in her chest. The urge to flee was almost overwhelming, and more than ever Nyssa wished zie had hir staff. Zie had surrendered it before they reached Skyhold, with Lavellan’s promise it would be taken to hir room. Even if zie had it with hir, it was unlikely to help.

“Don’t pay Commander Cullen any mind,” the spymaster said, indicating the Templar. “He insisted on being present, but this is not an interrogation. I only wish to ask you a few questions.”

“You first,” Nyssa said, with far more bravado than zie felt.

The woman laughed lightly. “I suppose that is fair. I am Leliana, spymaster to the Inquisition. I once served as the Left Hand of Divine Justinia V.” She indicated the dark-haired woman. “This is Lady Cassandra Pentaghast, who served as Right Hand.”

“Interesting.”

This time it was Cassandra Pentaghast who answered, her voice heavy with an accent Nyssa recognised as Nevarran. “What is interesting?”

“That you should have chosen a Dalish elf to lead you, considering your Chantry roots.” Zie indicated the Commander with a twitch of hir head. “Templar. A lay sister. A Seeker of Truth. Yes, I recognise the symbol on your tunic,” zie added, as Cassandra opened her mouth with a frown. “And yet you have elves, dwarves, humans and Qunari all serving.”

“Inquisitor Lavellan was already our leader in all but name,” Cassandra replied, though her frown did not abate. “It was a natural choice. All those who wish to serve are welcome. Including mages.”

“And as I am sure the Inquisitor has told you, mages are in no short supply at Skyhold.” Leliana paused delicately. “That is why I must ask you to agree to magical testing before you join us.”

Nyssa nodded; it was a fair request considering the recent events. “Do you wish me to take a Harrowing? Is that why your templar is here?”

“I’m not a templar,” said the Commander. He moved away from the wall and approached the table, resting a casual hand on his sword. “Not anymore.”

“You wear a templar’s tunic,” Nyssa pointed out.

He smiled wryly. “I didn’t have time to change on the way to Skyhold.”

“Commander Cullen was Knight-Captain of the Templar Order in Kirkwall,” Leliana said, as Nyssa folded hir arms. “He was recruited by Seeker Cassandra after the unfortunate events in Kirkwall three years ago.”

“ _ Unfortunate _ is not how I would describe it,” Nyssa replied.

Annoyance flashed across Cullen’s face. “I don’t—“

“If we could return to the present topic,” Leliana interrupted. “It is a simple test carried out on every mage who has come to us.” She indicated Solas, who was standing quietly by the war table. “I believe you and Solas have met. I thought you might feel more comfortable being tested by someone who is more familiar to you.”

At Leliana’s nod he began to approach, rolling the sleeves of his tunic to the elbows.

“May I?” he asked, and extended a hand.

Nyssa tried to concentrate and remember hir mentor’s words. He had always been at hir to clear hir mind and let hir senses pick out details zie might have missed otherwise.

Solas pressed hir fingers between his. They were slender and long, cool to the touch and pale in comparison to the golden-brown of hir skin. He had the same callouses on his palm and fingers as zie—roughness from frequent use of a staff. He was taller than hir, though most people were. He towered over hir as he drew closer, turning hir hand palm up. His other hand pinched hir chin between thumb and finger.

“Look at me,” he said, and Nyssa obeyed reluctantly. Solas stared at hir, examining the features of hir face. It was uncomfortable—especially considering what zie had witnessed in the Dirth.

“Satisfied?” zie asked, when he let go of hir chin.

“No.” 

Zie flinched as his magic warmed hir hand suddenly. He must have felt hir fingers tremble, for he glanced down at hir and said quietly, “ _ Tel’enfenim, da’len _ . This will not cause pain.”

With a shock, Nyssa realised who he reminded hir of.

Solas lifted his hand and made a sweeping motion. Energy rushed through hir, hard enough to make hir stagger. Only a strong grip on hir elbow kept hir from falling.

“She is fine,” he said to Leliana, when the magic faded. “If she were possessed by a demon, it would have defended itself. Do you require anything further?”

“Yes, just a few more moments.” Leliana inclined her head to Nyssa. “Thank you for your co-operation. I can imagine as a mage you are used to such distrust.”

Nyssa shrugged. It seemed churlish to openly agree.

“The Inquisitor sent an… interesting letter ahead of your return to Skyhold. In it he mentions you spoke of an artefact that created the Breach.”

Of course the Inquisitor would have written to his council, Nyssa thought, and suddenly regretted speaking up. If this Sister Nightingale really had been the Left Hand of the Divine, then she would have been a skilled player of the Game indeed. No doubt zie had already revealed far more than zie wished to such a keen eye. On the other hand, if zie refused to tell them what zie knew, people might suffer for it.

Nyssa repeated what zie had told Lavellan of the artefact, and described it as zie remembered it: a heavy, carved metallic orb warm to the touch. Leliana, Cassandra, Solas and Cullen listened intently, although the spymaster and Seeker occasionally exchanged glances. Solas remained silent, watching Nyssa with an inscrutable expression.

“Their proper use is to channel magical energies,” zie continued into the silence. “If a madman like this Elder One managed to unlock its powers, that could have been how the Breach was created.”

“They?” Cassandra pressed, straightening to her full height. “There are more of them?”

“I don’t know. I only knew of one, and it was stored in the vaults of the University of Orlais. At least, it was until last year, when it was removed.”

Leliana frowned. “How do you know of this?”

Nyssa paused and swallowed as hir throat burned uncomfortably. The anxiety was nearly unbearable, but zie had to say it.

“Because,” zie replied, “I was the one who removed it.”

For a moment the room was utterly silent.

It was Cassandra who first spoke. Her mouth turned down at the corners, pulling at the healing scar on her cheek.

“You.” Her voice trembled with anger, and she made a move as if to step towards Nyssa. “You  _ delivered the orb to Corypheus? _ ”

“Cassandra,” Leliana said sharply.

This was the most dangerous part of telling hir story—mixing truth with lies, a technique zie had used often over the years. Never with a player of the Game, though, and not with such high stakes. Without hir staff, in the presence of a templar and angry Seeker, it would be easy to feel intimidated—but zie was Dalish, and zie did not have to submit to these humans.

“I was not finished speaking,” Nyssa said, with as much dignity as zie could manage, and forced hir voice to be steady. The Seeker cast Leliana an angry glance, as if it were she who had spoken, but found only a coolly neutral expression on the other woman’s face. 

Finally, she looked begrudgingly at Nyssa.

“Continue.”

Nyssa took deep breaths through hir nose and tried to remain calm.

“I was paid,” zie continued, “to take the orb and replace it with a replica—one which I had created. This is what I also did in Orlais: I created copies of valuable artefacts at the behest of the University of Val Royeaux. These copies were displayed at the University itself, or loaned out to Circles.”

“And someone hired you to steal the orb,” Leliana said thoughtfully. “Do you have a name?”

“No.”

This time it was Cullen who made a disbelieving sound. “How convenient.”

“Believe me or don’t believe me as you like,” Nyssa replied coolly. “I can tell you the one who paid me was an elf, and he accepted the orb on behalf of his clan.”

Solas frowned. “Elvhen?”

“Yes,” zie said, as the humans glanced at him. “It’s not the first time a clan has approached me for this sort of work. They paid me, but I would have done it for free.”

“Clearly you were deceived by this elf, whoever he is,” Cassandra said. 

For the first time, Nyssa dropped hir gaze.

“Many things have happened that I thought were impossible,” zie replied, and zie was unable to keep the bitterness out of hir voice. “Least of all being taken advantage of by my own people. Clearly, I am not immune to foolishness or naivety.”

Silence fell. Nyssa lifted hir chin, anxious and uncomfortable, and let them study hir.

Then Solas spoke. “ _ Da’len _ —”

“I am no child.”

He didn’t respond, pointedly, but continued talking. “The existence of this artefact is… not unknown to the Inquisition. I witnessed Corypheus wielding the orb at Haven, and identified it for what it was.”

Hir eyes narrowed. “Then why ask me for information you already know?”

“We know very little about this orb,” Leliana said. “Beyond what Solas has been able to tell us. Most people know less. We didn’t expect…” she trailed off, and a little frown creased her brows.

Nyssa didn’t bother being offended by the implication. “You didn’t expect a Dalish elf to know about such things. No doubt your elven mage expert told you we are all ignorant, stubborn fools.”

“Not in as many words,” Leliana replied, and shot Solas an apologetic look.

Nyssa laughed. “I’m not offended. For a nomadic people, we’re not very well-travelled.”

“But  _ you  _ are.”

“I’ve seen much in the last few years. That’s all I’ll say for now.” Nyssa straightened, the weight in hir chest lifting, and let hir gaze wander over hir audience. “I don’t know if I bear any responsibility for what’s happened, but I still want to help, and I will do what I can to convince my people to do the same. The Dalish are also a part of this world.”

The spymaster gazed at hir thoughtfully.

“I’m sure we can,” she said eventually. “A room has already been set aside for your use. If you could prepare a list of names and locations of your Dalish contacts, I would be grateful.”

There was a quick knock on the door and a dwarven man entered with his head down, rifling through a sheaf of papers he carried.

“Nightingale,” he said, “you got any idea where Ruffles went off to? I need her to pull some strings for me. Got the papers all done up and everything.” He looked up, eyebrows raising as he took in the other people in the room. “Oh, are we having a party in here?”

Leliana fixed him with a look of mild exasperation. “You could have sent a messenger, Varric.”

The dwarf shrugged. “Walking a few feet to the war room doesn’t seem so bad when the Inquisitor’s got me trudging through corpse-infested swamps every other week.” He shot Nyssa a curious look.

“This is Nyssa,” Leliana said, following his gaze. “One of the Inquisitor’s new… friends. Lady Nyssa, this is Varric Tethras. He is our—“

“Storyteller, ruffler of feathers, and the bane of Seeker Cassandra’s existence,” Varric finished, while looking hir up and down. Cassandra scowled. “What’re you in here for? You call some human a  _ shem _ ?”

“Nyssa will be putting her knowledge and magical talents to good use for the Inquisition,” Leliana said.

“Elven magic, eh?” Varric tilted his head and addressed Solas directly. “They talk this over with you, Chuckles?”

“Do me a favour and show Nyssa to her quarters,” Leliana said, before Solas could reply. “She’s up on the top floor. Next to you, actually.”

“Sure, if you leave this for Ruffles. Tell her I said thanks.” Varric gestured to Nyssa. “Come on, I’ll give you the grand tour.”

* * *

The door swung shut behind Varric and the Inquisition’s newest recruit. A moment of heavy silence descended upon the room. Then Leliana glanced around and asked, “Thoughts?”

“I do not trust her,” Cassandra said immediately, and Cullen nodded in agreement. “It seems far too convenient that she appears in the Exalted Plains exactly when the Inquisition arrived.”

“Scout Harding’s report mentioned she had been there for at least a few months.”

“I am aware, Leliana. I read the report. The mage had been observing the camp for three days before she approached and asked for the Inquisitor specifically.” Cassandra made a noise of disapproval, her dark brows furrowing, and tapped impatiently on the war table. “Solas, I would welcome your opinion. You have worked with her in the field, have you not?”

Solas, as always, carefully considered his thoughts before responding. ‘Powerful and knowledgeable’ was not inherently a cause for suspicion. The Inquisition and its leader tended to attract remarkable people, even moreso now after their settlement at Skyhold.

He thought of Nyssa: the fine-boned features, the vallaslin dedicated to Mythal. The ease with which she pulled magic from the Fade. Her pained grimace in close proximity to the pride demon. The fluent elven. The bitterness in her voice as she spoke truth and lies combined.

“Inquisitor Lavellan seems to find her sincere,” Solas pointed out. “He has yet to mis-judge those he brings to the Inquisition. We would not be as successful otherwise.”

“Yet as we grow, spies will be inevitable,” Cassandra said grimly. “Can we trust a mage who admits to being a thief?”

Solas did not miss the quick, annoyed glance Leliana shot at the other woman. He had never seen the spymaster display so much as a single tell in the months he had observed her at work. Had the Seeker hit a nerve, perhaps?

“She readily confessed to having taken the orb,” the spymaster said, and picked up another set of papers lying on the war table. “Elven criminals are punished severely in Orlais, moreso after the last rebellion in Halamshiral. Why risk death for such a lie?”

_Why indeed_ , Solas thought. The child was a curiosity if nothing else. Whether she could be an asset or a liability was yet to be determined.

“The point is,” Leliana continued, “we may be able to find how the orb fell into the Elder One’s hands.”

“Does it matter?” Cullen asked.

“Yes,” she replied simply, and her expression brooked no argument. “My scouts will keep looking. Solas, will you find out what you can?”

“Of course,” Solas said, and turned a thoughtful gaze to the door. “I will discover what she knows.”


	6. Settling In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A dream forces Nyssa to face reality. Zie enlists Cole to help out at the healing tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Jarakrisafis (Ao3) for betaing!

Varric, as it turned out, was also one of the Inquisitor’s ‘friends’. According to him, he had been brought to the conclave by the Divine’s Right Hand herself, to recount events leading up to the Champion of Kirkwall’s disappearance.

Nyssa had been to Kirkwall shortly before its chantry had exploded four years ago. Zie had been tracking a relic that had found its way to the black market in Darktown, and zie had left with it just days before the catastrophe. In hindsight, it had been a good decision. Kirkwall had a regular influx of treasure hunters like the Lords of Fortune and crime organisations like the Carta, both who had been involved in hunting down the relic, and neither group had been pleased when zie stole it out from right under their noses.

Even if zie had never been to Kirkwall, zie would have heard of Varric Tethras; anyone who lived around the Free Marches knew of his books. Nyssa did not know what to expect, but Varric had an easy manner to him that made hir relax for the first time since zie arrived in Skyhold. It helped that he insisted on showing hir around the battlements first, where there were fewer people. Zie should have been embarrassed for hir anxiety to be so obvious, but zie was almost beyond caring at this stage.

“You’re from Starkhaven, right?”

Nyssa tore hir gaze away from the view of the courtyard and back to Varric, who leaned against the wall of a nearby guard tower. “What makes you think that?”

“The accent,” Varric said. He moved closer, leaning both elbows on the stone railing beside hir. “I knew a guy from Starkhaven. Shiny armour, big bow. Boring. So, who’ve you met so far?”

“The Inquisitor, of course,” zie replied. “And Iron Bull, Dorian, Solas and Cole.”

“Tiny, Sparkler, Chuckles and Kid,” Varric mused.

“Just now I met Spymaster Leliana, Seeker Cassandra and Commander Cullen.”

“Nightingale, Seeker and Curly. Right.”

Nyssa smiled. “Do you give nicknames to everyone you meet?”

“Just the ones I work with,” he said, and gestured for hir to follow him. “So, you haven’t met everyone yet. I’m sure you’ll get around to it. The Inquisitor’s collected an interesting bunch, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not sure I’ll get around to anything,” Nyssa replied. “Skyhold is larger than I expected.”

“You’ll get used to it. Come on. I’ll show you where your room is.”

* * *

Nyssa’s room was on the third level next to Varric’s, as the spymaster had said.

When zie entered zie found what little possessions zie had left unpacked and put away, hir staff returned and hir books stacked neatly on a desk pushed against the right wall. There was a bed (far larger and more elaborate than zie needed), an armoire and even a mirror. A half-folded privacy screen stood at the back, behind which was a bathtub. 

For an elf used to sleeping under the stars and washing in cold streams, privacy and hot water were luxuries zie had not experienced in a long time. It was almost enough to make hir uncomfortable, as if zie didn’t deserve it. But the tub was right there, Nyssa thought, and cast it a longing glance. Zie was so dusty from travel… surely zie was meant to use it, if this room had been assigned to hir.

Whoever unpacked hir belongings had left a pitcher of water on an end table next to the bed, and a towel and cake of soap nearby. Zie knew very well how time consuming it was for baths to be drawn, even with the water pipes some wealthy Orlesian nobles had in their homes. Zie had taken many a cold wash in the cramped wooden tub in the servants’ quarters, and only after the human servants had used the water. But here zie could use magic to fill hir own bath.

Nyssa poured the entire pitcher into the tub, removed hir vambraces and plunged hir hands into the water. Zie closed hir eyes and summoned hir magic, lips moving silently as zie cast. It was a simple multiplication spell, and one Keeper Elindra had taught hir years ago for practical reasons. Food had sometimes been scarce with the clan—using magic to increase food supply was risky, but it was better than the long, slow end of starvation.

When the tub was half full, zie redirected hir magic to heating the water, and once the water was steaming zie retrieved the soap and towel, stripped off and sank into the water with a sigh. This, at the very least, made it worth joining the Inquisition. Even the soap smelled nice.

Zie submerged herself up to hir chin, and it was lucky zie did, for at that moment the door to hir room creaked open and someone entered.

Nyssa crossed hir hands over hir chest and sat up, eyes flicking to hir staff resting against the far wall. Even hir dagger was too far away, tossed on the bed along with the rest of hir clothes. Zie hadn’t even bothered drawing the privacy screen, thinking that a locked door would be sufficient. Clearly zie had forgotten to actually lock it.

“Who’s there?” zie called sharply. There was the unmistakable sound of wood knocking against something hollow, then an elven girl with blonde curls appeared in Nyssa’s view and curtsied.

“Begging your pardon, my lady.”

Nyssa shifted uncomfortably in the tub, though hir nakedness was not the issue. “You don’t need to bow to me. I am an elf, same as you.”

“Erm… as you say, mistress.” The girl gestured to the desk, where she’d set down a tray. “I brought food and drink. I didn’t realise you’d asked for a bath first.”

“I didn’t,” Nyssa replied. “I used a spell to make my own.”

The girl’s face drained of colour. “Oh.” She backed up a few steps.

“Thank you,” Nyssa called, but she was already gone, stammering an apology as she shut the door. Zie sighed.

The bath was a somewhat hurried affair after that.

* * *

Nyssa hadn’t walked through the Planasene Forest for years, but it was much the same as the last time. Dark tangled vines covered massive tree trunks, and higher up, the branches were thick with spider webs. Mist covered the ground, turning the trees further away into vague shapes.

“You’re late,” said a voice from behind hir.

_ Don’t flinch. _

Hir mentor leaned against a nearby tree, arms folded. Violet eyes followed as zie offered the bundle to him. The artifact was solid enough, but he unwrapped it with the delicacy and caution reserved for a bag of gaatlok.

“The Orb of Fen’Harel,” Nyssa said. “Your clan will be pleased.”

“That they will.” Gingerly he placed it in his bag. “You did well, da’len.”

The compliment didn’t please hir as much as zie thought. Nyssa dropped hir gaze, fiddling with hir scarf.

“Did I, Felassan?” zie asked into the quiet, and heard crunching footsteps as he approached. “I can’t go back. My cover… they will be guarding the vault closely now. I had to kill a servant to escape.” 

Burning shame twisted in hir gut, but Nyssa swallowed hard and shoved it down. Zie couldn’t think of it; not now.

Hir mentor circled around behind hir. His footsteps became heavier—too heavy for a slight, barefoot elf. The hair stood up on hir arms and the back of hir neck in a wave.

“You do not need to return… nor should you allow guilt to cloud your mind.” 

A touch on hir shoulder. Nyssa kept hir head down.

_ If I don’t look up _ , zie thought,  _ then I can’t see what he looks like, and he can’t harm me _ . Zie couldn’t help seeing the hand on hir shoulder, though—and the twisted, blackened claws did not belong to the man zie knew. When he spoke, his voice echoed with a deep, dark power.

“You cannot save everyone,” the not-Felassan said. “You cannot mourn for those who fell to a greater purpose.”

This isn’t how it happened, Nyssa thought. Zie turned around—

—and shot upright in hir bed, so abruptly the muscles in hir neck protested. The image of Felassan’s face stayed on the inside of hir eyelids, twisted into a thing of black fire with too many eyes. Zie shuddered, blinked the sleep out of hir eyes and glanced around.

Hir room in Skyhold—still unfamiliar, but that would ease in time. Hir loose hair tumbled over hir shoulders, still damp from hir bath, and zie was dressed only in hir smallclothes. How long had it been? Zie had slept no more than a few hours, surely. Zie must have been tired indeed to fall asleep, let alone to dream.

Nyssa rolled off the bed, unmindful of hir state of undress, and began to pace. The meeting with the Inquisition’s council had raised more questions than answers, and the nap had not calmed hir nerves any. Zie did not want to be right about the orb, but there was no denying what Solas had said. Somehow it had been delivered into this Elder One’s hands, and if Felassan had been responsible—

“ _ Fenhedis _ ,” zie muttered, then shook the dust off hir clothes and redressed. This was not what zie wanted to think about right now.

* * *

It was almost when Nyssa left hir room with clean hair and relatively dust-free clothes. Zie had only slept a few hours.

Zie had assumed Skyhold’s residents to be mostly soldiers, given its use as a fortress, but there were less fighting men around than zie thought. Zie spotted construction workers on wooden scaffolding around the battlements, and servants running to and fro with buckets and trays. There were children playing in the lower courtyard, their laughter chasing messengers up the stairs. There were also merchants selling their wares near the stables—bolts of fabric, weapons, even trinkets and toys. The grounds were also teeming with wild plants, and zie found elfroot, embrium and even spindleweed behind the tavern.

Nyssa was heading back to hir room with a handful of herbs when zie spotted a large tent in the lower courtyard. Zie had glimpsed them when zie’d arrived, but had other concerns occupying hir at the time. Zie had wondered if they were temporary barracks, but clearly Skyhold had enough room to host at least five thousand soldiers, if not more. It wasn’t until zie spotted the rows of cots that zie realised it was a healer’s tent.

This was something zie could do; something zie was good at. The Inquisition would need more healers as its forces grew.

Nyssa took the stairs two at a time and strode into the area as if zie were meant to be there. The tent was sturdy enough, with oiled canvas flaps, but it might not be enough to keep the elements at bay when the winter came. Within seconds zie picked out the one in charge; a human woman standing over a table upon which a groaning man lay. She wore a heavy leather apron and was brandishing a crude-looking pair of forceps as she talked. 

A surgeon. Nyssa pursed hir lips in annoyance.

A young human man stood by the surgeon’s side dressed in robes, looking as if he would rather be anywhere else—though with the way the woman was lecturing him, perhaps that was understandable. He had a slightly greenish look, as if he were about to vomit.

The surgeon finally noticed Nyssa’s approach and glanced up.

“If you’ve come to see me you’ll have to wait,” she said curtly. “There’s soldiers who need treatment.”

“I’ve come to help,” Nyssa replied, and indicated the herbs zie had collected on hir walk. “I’m a healer.”

The woman looked hir up and down. “You don’t look like a healer. You join with the rebel mages?”

“Do I look like I’m from the Circle?”

“Suppose not.” The surgeon looked impatient. “Look, I haven’t got all day. There’s a half dozen waiting and I was the only one.” She jerked her head at the young man. “Least ‘til I got saddled with Muggins here while the rest of the mages are ‘negotiating’ fair conditions with upstairs.”

“I’m sure ‘Muggins’ can still be of use,” Nyssa said dryly. “If he can make poultices out of elfroot. You can do that, can’t you?” zie added, addressing the boy directly.

“Y-yes, er…” The boy looked hir up and down, then added hopefully, “Enchanter?”

Nyssa began to reply, stopped, then shrugged. “Yes, Enchanter will do, I suppose.” Zie took a sprig of each herb from hir bundle and shoved it into his hands. “Go on, then.” To the surgeon zie said, “What’s happened to this man?”

“Not sure,” the surgeon replied stiffly. “I set his leg two days ago. Put up a right royal fuss, he did—took the boy and one of the soldiers to help me hold him down.”

Nyssa frowned. “Did you give him something for the pain?”

“No. I’m a surgeon, elf, and I’m all the Inquisition’s got. At least until the robes finish demanding their extra blankets and pillows.”

Humans! Not enough pain-relieving medicine, and too much waving around of knives and saws. Zie had seen enough of that in Val Royeaux. Nyssa stepped forward and rested the inside of hir wrist on the man’s forehead.

Warm. Clammy. Rapid breathing. Zie knew the signs of a fever when zie saw one.

“You can help the boy,” zie continued, and felt for the man’s pulse. “If you’re all the Inquisition’s got, then you’d best start learning how to make a poultice.”

The woman turned hir head and fixed Nyssa with an incredulous look. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Your surgeon’s tools are not needed here.”

“You can’t just—”

“I can, and I will.” Zie would never have dared spoken to a human this way in Val Royeaux; they would see hir strung up and kicking before they let a ‘rabbit’ disrespect them. “This man needs a healing spell, and I don’t see you wielding a staff.”

The surgeon frowned. “Magic is not to be relied upon for everything.”

“Would you rather he lose his leg?”

After a few seconds of silent glaring, the surgeon shrugged and stepped away from the table.

“He’s afraid,” said a voice to hir left, and Nyssa jumped. Zie glanced around and saw Cole rising from beside a nearby cot.

“Cole,” zie said, and smiled. The spirit-boy had remained for the week in the Exalted Plains, and zie still wasn’t sure what to make of him, but he had a manner that zie found oddly endearing. Then what he said caught up to hir. “Oh, you can hear his thoughts?”

“Felt the leg break when my horse threw me,” Cole replied, eyes fixed on the unconscious man. “White-hot then. Heavy, swollen, red pain now.”

“Swollen?”

Cole nodded, and pointed to his right leg. Carefully Nyssa pressed on the limb, and the man twitched.

“Here,” Cole said softly, and held out his hand. There was a small knife resting in his palm. Nyssa took it, and began to cut away the material of the man’s trousers. Creators knew where the boy had found the knife, but the blade was so sharp it slid easily through the cloth. Zie had left hirs in hir room.

“May I ask you a question, Cole?”

“I wasn’t always Cole,” he said. He slid behind hir silently and walked to the other side of the table, peering so closely his hat brushed the top of the unconscious man’s boots. “I came through to help. Then I came to warn them.”

Nyssa shot him a puzzled look, then winced as the blade knicked hir finger. “Do you mean Ghil?”

“Ghil.” Cole paused, licking his lips carefully, as if testing the name on his tongue. “Before, only Dorian called him that. He likes how the name fits in his mouth. And in yours.”

“For different reasons, I’m sure.” Nyssa peeled away the cut fabric and exposed a bruised, red and inflamed leg. “Ah, now I see what the surgeon meant. This must have been the broken leg. A bone infection, perhaps.”

“Can you heal it?”

“Yes, with magic. If it were an arm or hand, I might splint it and let the bone heal itself, but… the Inquisition needs its soldiers walking.”

Nyssa closed hir eyes and opened hirself up to the Fade, feeling its thrum and pulse around hir, extending hir senses beyond what zie could see or touch. Zie reached out, past skin, past tired muscle and pulled tendon, then—

_ There. _

“A piece of bone,” zie murmured. “Not a clean break as the surgeon supposed.”

Cole leaned in close to the unconscious man and fell quiet for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall quickly.

“Sharp, stabbing pain like fire,” he murmured. “Solas says this world is slow, sluggish, too heavy and real. Is that how your bones break so easily?”

“Not easily. It takes quite a bit of force to shatter a bone. Mostly they will snap.” Nyssa glanced at him. “Solas knows a lot about the Fade, does he? And spirits?”

Cole nodded, blinking at hir with his pale eyes. 

“Like you,” he said, head tilted, as if zie were a curious puzzle to be solved. “Salt and spice on the sea breeze, a girl who isn’t a girl.”

It was slightly unnerving, to have a spirit interact with hir in this world—there was no magic that could read minds, yet apparently Cole could reach into hir thoughts and pluck out memories. Nyssa returned hir attention to the displaced bone chip and manipulated it slowly back into place. If zie concentrated hard enough, perhaps zie could conceal hir slight discomfort.

He meant well, no doubt, but there were memories zie would rather not share with a stranger. Zie also had the feeling Cole didn’t quite know how to tell which memories should be left undescribed.

“A spirit of joy,” Nyssa said reluctantly, gaze dropping. “She was under the protection of the seer who trained me. I learned how to heal with the aid of spirits there, in Rivain. It was a while ago.”

Cole straightened, then circled around behind hir, blinking curiously at the magic pouring from hir hands. “Yes. Cole was like you. He wanted to be normal.”

“I see.”

“You don’t… but it’s alright. Solas says the Dalish don’t trust spirits any more than they do demons.”

‘Solas says’, again. Nyssa shook off the faint unease and cleared hir mind. Zie cast hir spell, eyes slipping shut. Slowly the bone began to knit back together, and the fluid evaporated. When the last sliver of bone clicked into place zie opened hir eyes and exhaled, unsurprised to find zie was sweating. Healing spells were rarely easy—especially when it came to knitting bone. Flesh and muscle could be stitched back together, but bone took weeks to heal without magic.

“Hot, dull, aching pain,” Cole murmured.

Nyssa nodded. “He’ll need a poultice now, to soothe redness and hurt. If I could—” zie looked up, paused, and glanced around. Cole was nowhere to be seen.

“Here,” said a voice behind hir, and zie jumped. Cole circled around hir, a bowl held in one hand, and a roll of linen bandages in another. Zie took them with a nod of thanks and began to apply the mixture.

Behind hir, the surgeon let out a curse and said, “Where the hell did my poultice go?”

Nyssa stifled an amused snort and tried to focus on the task.

“You don’t have to be here if you’re bored,” zie said after a few moments.

“I’m not bored,” Cole said. “I’m learning.”

“You can learn by watching?”

He blinked up at hir. “That’s how you did it.”

Nyssa bit hir tongue and said nothing.

Once the leg was bandaged, zie enlisted the mage boy to help hir carry him to a cot. The surgeon came over, picking bits of elfroot leaves off her fingers.

“What was it?” she asked.

“A chip of bone worked loose from the break,” Nyssa said. An awkward silence followed. Zie could practically see the cogs turning in the woman’s head—one of them would have to concede. From the look on the surgeon’s face, she would be loathe to admit she had missed the chip when she first set the leg. For all they knew, it had worked loose because she and the mage boy had not given the man a sedative before setting the leg.

In Orlais, such a mistake would never be allowed to pass without comment. No Orlesian would pass up an opportunity to take advantage for their own personal gain… but this was not Orlais, and Nyssa would likely be working with this woman for months to come.

“I would also have missed it, without magic,” Nyssa said, although zie did not entirely believe it. “And without Cole’s help.”

The surgeon frowned. “Who?”

Nyssa glanced to hir left, but Cole was nowhere to be seen.

“Never mind. Did you say there were more healers joining us at some point?”

“Yes, if they ever finish complaining about their rooms.” The surgeon rolled her eyes. “For now, it’s the two of us. Most of our work comes down to minor injuries and venereal disease. Tonics and potions are beyond me.” She threw up her hands in exasperation. “A soldier comes with pus leaking from Maker-knows-where and I’d just as soon tell him to remove the whole thing. You can imagine how well that goes down.”

Nyssa laughed. “In that case, you can send them to me.”


	7. Missives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An awkward dinner party, a meeting with Josephine, and a fight with Solas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Sherry (RoseateGales @ tumblr / Ao3) for betaing!

Nyssa had been to numerous dinner parties in Orlais.

Never as a guest, of course—servants were not invited to sit with the  _ genterie _ at any occasion, let alone a formal dinner. The University of Orlais held such events from time to time when raising funds for their research and education programs. Nyssa would serve the drinks, listen to the nobles’ gossip and think of how zie could use that information later—ideally, to help other servants avoid becoming collateral damage in the Grand Game. In reality, that wasn’t always the case. One thing zie had learned quickly was that dinners were less about  _ what _ was served and more about  _ who  _ was invited,  _ who _ was in attendance… and who was not. 

A dinner party at Skyhold was not quite the same, but it wasn’t for lack of trying. The surroundings may have lacked the gaudiness of Orlesian trappings, but the table could have been plucked from any Val Royeaux noble’s house. Fine crystal wine glasses, a tablecloth white enough to blind hir in broad daylight, nine different types of cutlery: a demonstration in excess.

At least zie didn’t have to serve. That was a bonus.

“Wine, my dear?”

Nyssa glanced up at the human who had spoken. Her rich, dark skin, high cheekbones and full lips gave away her Rivaini heritage. That, and her imperious poise made her recognisable even to Nyssa. 

_ Madame de Fer.  _ The Lady of Iron.

As little attention as zie paid to Orlesian politics, even zie knew of her reputation as a powerful and respected advisor to Empress Celene. The woman sat at the head of the table, dressed in red velvet and fine silk, and regarded the seated guests before her like a queen receiving her subjects. Even knowing this was the Inquisitor's domain, zie felt uneasy. There was something about Orlesians that always made hir anxious. Particularly the nobles.

“Thank you, Madame,” zie said, and let a servant pour hir a glass. It had been months since zie had tasted real wine, or at least, the type made in vineyards. The closest zie had gotten was weak dandelion infusions and brews made from fermented fruit. Most city elves could not afford much more than that, and neither could zie, on a servant’s salary.

To hir right was a dark-haired woman in rich purple and gold, who had been introduced as Lady Montilyet, the Inquisition’s diplomat. She picked up her glass with a delicate, manicured hand and took a tentative sip. Across from her sat Cassandra, looking like she had eaten something sour; and Leliana, sipping her wine and watching the rest of them with mild interest. To hir left was Dorian, looking faintly amused, and Ghil, wearing an expression of polite resignation. No doubt he had endured this rigmarole many times since becoming Inquisitor.

“I overheard an interesting tale yesterday,” Dorian said conversationally. Rings clinked on his wine glass as he took a sip. “Hm. Agreggio Pavali. I didn’t expect to find a Tevinter wine at an Orlesian table. I hope you’re not losing your touch, my dear woman?” he added to Madame de Fer.

“Not at all, darling,” she replied sweetly, and picked up her own glass. “It was all we had on hand at such short notice. With the sudden arrival of our newest associate—”

Nyssa felt hir heart skip a beat as the others looked at hir.

“Ah, as I was saying,” Dorian continued. “I was walking past the healer’s tent the other day and I overheard a few grumbles from some of the new mage recruits. Something about an  _ upstart Dalish _ barging into the tent and ordering them around?”

Nyssa narrowly avoided choking on hir next sip of wine, smothering hir cough in hir elbow, and reached instead for the bread basket. Dorian’s moustache quirked as he looked at hir. 

He was thoroughly enjoying this. The ass.

Ghil raised his eyebrows and glanced at Dorian. 

“Upstart Dalish?” he asked after a moment, then his freckled face broke into a grin.

“I’m not talking about you, dear man,” Dorian replied, with an air of weary resignation. “Not unless you suddenly developed a talent for magic.”

“He’s talking about me,” Nyssa said.

“Well,  _ obviously _ .”

Zie ignored him. “Yes, I’ve been lending a hand in the healers’ tent for the last few days. Yes, I may have ruffled a few feathers.” Zie took a deep breath. “In my defense, half of them didn’t know healing spells, and the other half didn’t even know how to make a bloody poultice!”

Ghil laughed softly. Flushing, Nyssa pressed hir lips together, reached for hir wine, then thought better of it. Creators knew zie would misjudge hir ability to hold alcohol and end up paying for it the next morning.

The dinner party seemed to drag on while Nyssa sat in near-silence. Servants brought out creamy lettuce soup and flatfish cooked in brown butter, roasted chicken in sweetberry sauce and a salad of wild greens and roast potatoes. Nyssa was content to eat and listen to the conversation across the dinner table, observing the easy banter between Leliana and Lady Montilyet, and the slightly stiff exchange of words from Cassandra and Madame de Fer—or Vivienne, as Cassandra and Ghil called her.

After the last dish had been taken away, all that was left were their half-empty wine glasses, and Leliana and Lady Montilyet were conversing in low murmurs. Cassandra had excused herself, muttering about ‘too much paperwork’, and Dorian and Ghil were mulling over their wine and listening to the politely curious questions Vivienne directed at Nyssa.

“So, you are both a physician and a magical healer,” Vivienne said, her eyebrows arched. “And an apostate, are you not? I assume you were trained in other ways.”

It was hard not to get hir hackles raised; the woman was called the Iron Lady for a reason, and she was the Imperial Enchanter for a reason. One did not reach such a high position without cunning. If Nyssa was not careful, zie would reveal more than zie wished to.

Nyssa took another sip of wine to calm hirself before answering. This was not Orlais, and it did not matter if this woman played the Game or not. Zie did not have to participate.

“Technically, an apostate is a mage who rebels against the Chantry,” zie pointed out. “I’ve never been a mage of the Circle.”

“Pure semantics, darling. And you did not answer my question.”

Nyssa shrugged. “Then yes, if it pleases you. My mother was a mundane healer of no small talent, and I spent equal time under her instruction as I did with my Keeper. I learned many skills from mages whose ways of practicing magic fell outside what the Circles teach.”

“A blood mage.” Disdain dripped from the Enchanter’s voice, and Nyssa gripped hir wine glass as anxiety tightened hir chest. “Disappointing.”

“Not blood magic.” It would be pointless to make an argument of the Chantry’s views on that particular subject. “I learned spirit healing from a Rivaini seer. Are you not Rivaini yourself, Madame?”

Barely a flicker of an eyelash. The shemlen had poise.

Ghil looked at Vivienne. “Your family was from Dairsmuid, yes? I overheard you and Cassandra talking earlier.”

“Indeed,” Vivienne replied, with an air of indifference. “Fortunately I was born in Wycome, not in the midst of such ludicrous traditions.”

Nyssa frowned before zie could help it, taken aback by the dismissal in the woman’s tone. It was an attitude zie had seen before, though, in city elves.

An uncomfortable silence fell. Nyssa tapped hir fingers on hir wine glass, musing over the Enchanter’s words. The idea of being anything less than proud was foreign to hir; despite the hatred this world had for elves, zie had never felt ashamed for being an elf. Even though zie had left hir clan years ago, zie had grown up among hir people.

Then again, Nyssa thought, perhaps if zie had grown up in a Circle, and all zie knew of magic was taught by the Chantry, zie would believe the Dalish were backwards too. It probably wasn’t hir place to judge, and if zie said more it could turn into more of an argument than zie was prepared for. Especially with wine in hir.

Nyssa drained hir glass and stood.

“If you’ll excuse me, I have work to do tomorrow. Healing work,” zie added, then glanced at Ghil. “Inquisitor, you should come and see me when you have time.”

Ghil nodded; his eyes flicked between hir and Vivienne.

Nyssa nodded to Vivienne. “Thank you for inviting me.” 

Without waiting for a reply zie turned and left, taking the stairs two at a time.

* * *

The next week went by quickly.

Only two days after the dinner party the Inquisitor was off again, this time to Kirkwall, to view the wares of the Black Emporium at the invitation of its owner. Nyssa had heard of the place throughout hir travels, but didn’t much care that zie wasn’t invited along. Plus, zie had work to do—if zie could find a place that wasn’t too dark, too noisy, and was well-ventilated. 

You would think it easy enough in a massive fortress, but so far hir search had been fruitless, and the only place left to explore was the depths of the fortress. Zie was too proud and too anxious to ask the Inquisitor or his advisors to displace someone for hir own needs, even if those needs were technically for the Inquisition. So far Skyhold’s healers consisted of a few untrained Circle mages and a surgeon who couldn’t treat a simple infection without cutting bloody great holes in a patient.

Zie could train them well enough, but zie would need to make healing potions for the time being, as it would not do to kill hirself trying to heal every minor cut and scrape with magic. Zie would just have to make do with what zie could find.

The main hall was almost deserted this early in the morning, save for a few servants lighting the braziers and sweeping the floors. Nyssa crossed the hall with silent footsteps, ignoring the cold stone under hir feet, and took a door on the opposite side. 

Zie had walked through this door nearly two weeks ago when going to meet the Inquisition’s war council, and zie knew it led to Lady Montilyet’s office—but before it did, the corridor followed a staircase down to the lower level.

Two torches framed the archway, and below them the stairs descended into darkness. Nyssa cast a glance around, then lit them with a flick of hir wrist. The fire sputtered to life with a hiss and a few wisps of smoke, and zie fought back the instinctive fear at hir own daring.

It was one thing to cast a spell in the privacy of hir room, especially if the spell was creating some water. Fire was another thing—a destructive force that could easily harm others. It was terrifying, but oddly thrilling, to work hir magic in such a public place.

Nyssa took the stairs slowly, pressing hir hand flat against the wall, and conjuring another mage-light as zie descended. By the time zie got to the lower level, it was so dark zie could barely see two feet in front of hir—but it was just light enough to see an unlit brazier on the edge of hir vision. Zie summoned Veilfire and lit the brazier. The others in the hall flared to life, revealing a hall as vast as the Imperial Palace’s ballroom.

Nyssa leaned against the wall and took it in. Stone arches framed the thoroughfare, and the floor was almost entirely covered by a worn, ancient-looking rug. The architecture was like the rest of the fortress: indeterminate, though the simplicity of the design indicated it was probably Fereldan. No carved dogs though. Just two statues on either side of the entrance nearest to hir.

Dwarven statues, Nyssa noted with interest. That was oddly out of place for a Fereldan fortress.

The sound of clattering boots made hir start. Moments later two men, elven and human, appeared on the stairs behind hir. They were wearing Inquisition guard uniforms; both gave hir a startled look.

“See, I told you they’d send someone to clean it,” the human said to his companion.

Nyssa bit back an irritated reply and dismissed the mage-light with a wave. “Do I look like a servant to you?”

“She’s that Dalish the Inquisitor brought in,” the elf said. “You get lost on the way to the forest?”

“Very funny. Are there any spare rooms down here? I need a work space for potion-making.”

“That room’s spare,” the human replied, and pointed to a closed door across the hall. “Nobody wants to go in. It feels strange. Even the servants won’t set foot in it.”

Nyssa raised hir eyebrows. “Feels strange?”

“Yes.” The man shivered, and cast a furtive glance at the door. “Not sure I can describe it. Sort of… cold and wrong.”

That was enough to pique hir interest. “Please unlock it for me.”

The guards exchanged looks.

“What?” Nyssa said. “Are you not supposed to let anyone inside?”

The elf hesitated. “We got no orders. But… maybe there’s something in there that isn’t meant to get out.”

“Magic,” the man interjected, and his companion nodded. “There’s all sorts of rooms like that here.”

“I’m a mage.” It felt strange to say that out loud, and Nyssa couldn’t stop the shiver of anxiety that ran down hir spine. “If anything comes out, I’ll get rid of it. Give me the key. Quickly now.”

One thing zie noticed was the way the guards backpedaled after thrusting the key at hir; zie saw why seconds later—as zie unlocked the door and a rush of magic washed over hir.

“You feel it?” the human said. “Feels odd.”

Nyssa summoned hir energy and purged the magic rushing over hir in waves, and the feeling of discomfort faded.

“It was a magic ward,” zie said absently, though hir mind was racing. Who would have put a ward on this room? Not the Inquisitor surely; he was no mage. Perhaps Solas or Dorian, or one of the rebel mages.

A tingle of ambient energy ghosted over Nyssa’s skin as zie stepped inside. None of the spell remained—it was the Veil zie felt, and it was thinner here than anywhere else in the fortress. The room was tiny, its walls framed by bookshelves that reached towards the darkened ceiling. In the centre was a solid wooden desk piled with books of all sizes. They had been shoved to one side to make room for a large book stand.

At a glance Nyssa could see the room had clearly not been touched for many years. There were cobwebs strung across the bookshelves, and a thick layer of dust on everything from the chair to the book resting on its stand. The room smelled of mildew, and there was a faint metallic tang in the air.

Nyssa leaned against the desk and studied the tome laying open on the stand. The pages looked so brittle zie dared not touch them. Up close zie could make out faded writing in neat rows; some old dialect of the King’s tongue, perhaps. Curiosity tempted hir to sit down and examine the tome further, but there was work to be done.

Nyssa rested hir hands on hir hips and surveyed the room with a frown.

No windows. Small space. Barely any room to move. It was the least ideal place to make potions, and there had to be somewhere better.

“Maybe if I clean,” zie said out loud, and ran a finger over one of the bookshelves. Unlikely, but it was worth a shot—and if this was all zie had to work with, a clean environment was better than dust and cobwebs.

* * *

Cleaning the room from top to bottom took almost two hours (one hour for cleaning, and another for the distraction the old tome offered). By the time Nyssa finished, hir stomach was rumbling and hir tunic had so much dust zie had to shake it out in the hall. On the plus side, every surface was wiped clean, the braziers scraped free of wax, and every book reshelved. Sounds of thuds and scraping from above told hir there were people gathering in the hall.

Nyssa locked the door and placed another magical ward upon it, in case the guards or anyone else returned, and took the stairs back to the main hall.

People were rapidly filing into the great hall now it was long past dawn, from construction workers to guards, to people in robes from the Circles of Magi. The long tables that had lined the walls had been moved to the centre and laid out with dozens of trenchers. The smell of hot, fresh bread wafted past hir, and hir stomach rumbled.

“Alright, shh,” zie mumbled, and a man in mage robes shot hir an odd look. Zie ignored him and began to pick hir way through the crowd. 

“Hey, Marigold!”

The voice was familiar. Nyssa glanced to hir left and saw Varric appear out of the crowd, raising his hand in greeting.

“Oh, are you talking to me?” zie asked, eyebrows raising. “Am I Marigold?”

“You got it.”

Marigold wasn’t so bad, Nyssa thought, and followed the dwarf as he shouldered his way through the crowd. There were worse nicknames.

“Now you know why there’s so many humans at Skyhold,” Varric said, as zie followed him. “They can’t resist free food.”

Nyssa laughed. “Can you blame them?”

He shrugged. “I guess not. Most of them do nothing but gossip and bitch about how the food isn’t fancy enough. Me, I wish my problems were that small.”

“You could leave if you wanted to,” Nyssa pointed out. “Your problems would likely get a bit smaller if you walked away.”

Varric made a non-committal sound. “I don’t think the Seeker would be very happy if I up and left. I was her prisoner before all this shit happened.”

Nyssa stood on hir tiptoes and peeked over a woman’s shoulder to see what was on the tables. Slices of bread with slabs of butter and jars of honey; that, zie had expected. Zie also caught sight of marbled goose eggs, some sort of porridge, sausages, rashers of bacon and crispy fried fish.

“Look at all this food,” zie said, as zie helped hirself. “Are there that many people here?”

“Nah, the servants get whatever’s left over. And, since you’re going to ask, I’m still here because I figured Kirkwall could do without me for a while.” Varric let hir go in front of him, grabbed a plate and piled it with eggs, sausages and the porridge. “Besides, with everything that’s going on with Corypheus and the giant hole in the sky, where else am I going to get inspiration for my next book? You can’t make this shit up.”

Nyssa knew when a subject change was in order, so zie took a bite of hir bread and closed hir eyes, savouring the taste of butter on hir tongue. Back with hir clan, it would have been too plain—halla butter was strong and salty, and hir taste buds had not yet adjusted to the blandness of human food. The enjoyable simplicity of bread and butter was something zie hadn’t experienced in a long time.

“Do you know when the Inquisitor will return?” zie asked, after zie’d swallowed hir mouthful.

“Today or tomorrow.” Varric tore a chunk off his own bread and shredded it between thick fingers. “Why?”

“Curiosity, I suppose. I wondered if—”

“Lady Nyssa?” a voice said from behind hir.

Nyssa cringed visibly at the title before zie could stop hirself, and Varric shot hir a curious glance. Zie turned around, and spotted an elven woman in full Inquisition uniform, carrying her helmet on one hip.

“Calista, yes?” Nyssa asked; zie recognised the freckled, good-natured face. The woman had escorted hir to the war room when zie’d first arrived. “How are you?”

The woman looked surprised; evidently she hadn’t expected Nyssa to remember her or her sister. “Very well, my lady. Thank you for asking… oh. Uh, Ambassador Montilyet wants to see you.”

Varric nudged hir with his elbow. “Hey, Ruffles finally summoned you. I knew she would.”

“I’ve met her before,” Nyssa replied vaguely; there was no need to tell him about the awkward dinner party zie’d attended. “Can I finish my food first?”

“Of course, my lady,” Calista said. “Her room is just across the hall.”

Before the dinner party, Nyssa had seen the Ambassador in passing before on her way to the war room, or in the main hall with Leliana. Zie had paid little attention to her at the time, but as zie entered the antechamber and the woman behind the desk stood to greet hir, Nyssa allowed hirself to observe more. Up close, Lady Montilyet was younger than zie had expected; perhaps even younger than zie. She dressed in rich blues and golds that complimented the olive undertones of her brown skin, and her dark hair was pulled back into a chignon.

“Mistress Ralaferin,” she said. “Come in.”

“Lady Montilyet.” Once again Nyssa had to force hir muscles to relax, and hir stomach to stop churning wildly. “You wanted to see me?”

Lady Montilyet gestured for her to sit. “Please, ‘Josephine’ is fine. Forgive my lateness in meeting with you, I have been preoccupied with some rather… delicate negotiations.”

“And how many Orlesian tantrums did that entail?”

The ambassador’s mouth quirked. “About as many as you’d expect.” She seemed to suddenly realise what she’d said, and coughed politely. “At any rate, we already met at Vivienne’s event, but I thought it proper that we should meet privately. Inquisitor Lavellan tells me you have been assisting the healers.”

_ This isn’t an interrogation _ , Nyssa reminded hirself, twisting hir hands in hir lap.  _ Healing people is a  _ good  _ thing _ .

“I’ve been doing what I can,” zie said.

“Do you require supplies?”

Nyssa resisted the urge to shift nervously in hir seat and considered. 

“Medicinal herbs. Canavaris—elfroot,” zie corrected, and Josephine nodded. “Spindleweed, embrium, foxmint and dawn lotus would help. Prophet’s laurel, crystal grace and witherstalk also, if you’re able to get them.”

Josephine picked up her quill and made a note on the piece of paper in front of her. 

“I should have little trouble,” she said. “Is there anything else?”

Nyssa’s thoughts flicked to the little room zie had just spent the last few hours cleaning.

“There is the matter of some space,” zie said hesitantly, and the woman’s eyebrows rose. “I found a room in the lower levels to work from, but making potions in a space with little air is a recipe for disaster. If you have a room or a corner to spare with better air flow…”

“Ah,” Josephine replied. “As a matter of fact… the Inquisitor has set his mind on clearing one of the smaller towers for a hospice. I am certain you could use some of the space, if you wish.”

It took Nyssa a moment to process; zie sat back in hir chair, unable to help the little smile tugging at hir mouth. “Truly?”

“Of course.” Josephine smiled at hir surprised expression. “Our resources are not limitless, of course, but you are performing a service for the Inquisition. We will likely need healers in the months to come. It seems likely this war will escalate.”

Nyssa nodded absently, noting the concern lacing Josephine’s voice (though her expression remained politely neutral). Zie had been brought up to speed on the way back from Dirthavaren, though the Inquisitor had been vague on the details of this ‘Elder One’. Still, ideas were forming in hir head at lightning speed. Hir own hospice! A space for healing? Equipment to make potions and poultices? It seemed too good to be true.

“I must ask,” Josephine began, and Nyssa dragged hir focus back to the woman. She looked almost embarrassed, zie thought, as she toyed with the feather of her quill. “Have you had any… difficulties with any of our ranks?”

“You mean, has anyone called me a knife-ear yet?”

A flash of discomfort passed over Josephine’s face. Odd for a diplomat to show such an expression, but then again, the word typically prompted strong reactions in even the most tolerant of humans. It was unusual enough that she should even ask, Nyssa thought, and shook hir head. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“The Inquisitor said much the same,” Josephine said, with a hint of exasperation.

“Did he tell you how often we’re asked about—” Nyssa gestured to hir face.

“The tattoos? Yes, quite.” Josephine took a neatly folded piece of paper from a small pile on her desk. “I confess, before the Inquisition, I had not met many Dalish elves. Another reason why I asked you to see me.” She indicated the paper. “This is a missive I have prepared for clan Lavellan. The Inquisitor has advised me this time, but in future I will write to other clans in Ferelden and the Free Marches, including clan Ralaferin. If you wish to include a letter of a personal nature…”

Nyssa shifted uncomfortably, but was spared replying when the door to the antechamber creaked open. A human man entered, carrying two large books. 

“Forgive my interruption, Ambassador Montilyet,” the man said. “Messere Solas’s requisition has arrived.”

“Ah. Indeed.” Josephine stood. “Please put the books on my desk.”

“I can take those,” Nyssa offered. “It’s on my way.”

The messenger threw hir a glance. “Are you sure, uh…” Evidently he didn’t know how to address her, for he trailed off awkwardly. “They’re quite heavy.”

“I’m sure they are. Here, give them to me.”

He was right; the books were heavy and dusty. Nyssa wrinkled hir nose to stop from sneezing as he reluctantly deposited them in hir arms, and unable to help hirself, zie took a quick peek at the covers.

“Aren’t Sister Laudine’s books banned by the Chantry? And...” zie shifted the stack to one arm and rubbed the dust off one of the covers. “I’ve never even heard of this one.”

“I have my ways,” Josephine said, and Nyssa grinned at the note of mischief in her voice. “Thank you for your time, Mistress Ralaferin. If you decide to write to your clan, please let me know.”

Sharp, Nyssa thought as zie left the room. Zie had hoped to avoid thinking about writing to hir clan, but clearly Josephine had picked up on that.

* * *

The hall was almost empty just after the morning meal, though a few humans lingered around the tables still. Nobody paid attention to Nyssa as zie ducked across the hall and through the opposite door.

Zie hadn’t been into the rotunda before, only seen it from above when in the rookery or the library. Solas’s study was at the base of the rotunda, and for a person who reportedly preferred solitude, it seemed an odd place to choose. The room was bare of furniture save for a couch, an end table and a large desk in the centre of the room, strewn with all manner of papers and books. On the desk was also what looked like a large, glowing stone shard. That was the first thing that caught hir eye as zie took a few tentative steps into the room. As zie entered, a splash of pigment on the right wall caught hir attention. Zie tilted hir head back and squinted. An array of colours unfolded in hir peripheral vision, then in hir entire field of view as zie twisted hir head to see.

An entire section of the wall—from the floor to the wooden railing of the second floor—was covered by an enormous painting. Swathes of dark paint dominated the piece, framing a hulking, sinister figure with its hands surrounding an orb. Nyssa recognised the distinctive green-yellow of elven magic, and beneath it a silhouette of a Chantry burning.

Nyssa's breath caught in hir throat out of pure wonder. Zie placed the books on the desk and went to the wall, hir hand ghosting over the dried pigment, tracing bursts of orange.

To its left was another painting, and another further along the wall. All three shared a palette—golds, oranges, browns and blacks all blending into a perfect harmony of colour.

Tears pricked hir eyes. Zie had seen this style of painting only in the deepest and oldest elven ruins, and even then they had been faded echoes, some so chipped and cracked zie could hardly see any paint at all, let alone interpret it… but these were fresh and bright and so distinctly  _ elven _ .

“Hello.”

Nyssa jumped and glanced around, blinking in embarrassment, and noticed a wooden platform set against the far wall. Solas stood on the platform looking down at hir, a ragged cloth bunched in his hand.

“Did you paint these?” zie asked. “These frescoes, these are… did you paint them?”

“I did, yes.”

“They’re extraordinary.” A delighted laugh escaped hir before zie could stop it, and to cover hir embarrassment zie turned to look at the frescoes again.

“Thank you,” Solas replied. “I had thought to record the events of the past few months, but writing seemed inadequate.”

“I know what you mean.” Zie gestured to the books on the table. “I just met with Josephine Montilyet, and your books arrived. I thought to bring them.”

“You did not have to do that, but thank you.”

Zie shrugged. “It was on my way.”

Solas tossed the rag back onto the platform and shimmed down the ladder. As he approached zie was struck suddenly by how tall he was—not just compared to hir, which could apply to most people, elven or not. He was taller than most elves zie had met, even the men.

“Excellent,” he said, as he examined the books. “I am surprised the Ambassador was able to obtain these titles in particular."

Nyssa shrugged. “She seems good at what she does. No doubt she plays the Game like the rest of them.”

"Indeed.”

Solas’s head was still bent over the books, so Nyssa went back to examining the paintings.

The pigment had been applied on top of a plaster mix coating—it was an ancient technique, and would ensure the paintings would keep their rich colours for many years to come.

“The paintings please you, I take it.”

Nyssa glanced back at Solas over hir shoulder and smiled. “I’ve only seen these in the oldest ruins of our people, and not for a long time.”

“Our people?”

“Elves.”

“Hmm.” Solas didn’t look up from his books. “Do your people not think of other elves as mere ‘flat-ears?’”

Nyssa’s spine stiffened.

It would not do to be baited into an argument, zie reminded hirself, and fought down the annoyance threatening to furrow hir brow. This was not why zie was here.

Seconds crawled by in tense silence. Eventually Solas looked up, straightened, and regarded hir with a mildly curious expression.

“My people?” Nyssa said, when it became clear he was waiting for an answer.

Solas indicated hir with a gesture. “You bear the marks of Mythal. You are clearly Dalish, but you have not referred to me as a ‘flat-ear’. Nor have you denigrated my lack of vallaslin.”

“Are you… asking me why I haven’t insulted you yet?”

“I am merely curious.”

‘Mere curiosity’ had been used often enough as an excuse to insult; Nyssa had enough experience to know that. For a moment zie considered giving in to hir anger and letting him have it. Zie would see just how much of the elven language he knew—but no, that was petty, Nyssa thought, and stepped away from the wall. Behaving like a petulant child would not serve either of them, however satisfying it would be. If zie wanted to work with the Inquisition, zie had to get along with all of the Inquisitor’s associates.

“I am not a spokesperson for all Dalish,” zie said finally, and stepped away from the wall. “Excuse me.”

Nyssa turned heel and left before Solas could reply, taking the stairs two at a time until zie was breathing hard from the exertion. Zie kept going through the library, barrelling past Madame Vivienne’s room, out to the battlements and to hir own room. Only then did zie shut the door and sit down, hir breaths coming in harsh pants.

It wasn’t the first time zie’d been taken to task for something ‘the Dalish’ had done wrong, as if one individual elf was representative for many hundreds of elves. It was an infuriating double-standard; even so, hir own anger surprised hir. It was never easy not to take personally, but even an elf like Solas should have known better.

But who cared what the man thought, Nyssa said to hirself, and tossed hir bag on the chair. It wasn’t important.


	8. Red Letter Redoubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Agents of the Inquisition investigate Therinfal Redoubt -- and find more than they bargained for.
> 
> CHAPTER WARNING: Body horror

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to the lovely winterwolfwitch @ Ao3 for betaing!

In Orlais, sneering at Ferelden was practically a national pastime.

Ferelden was a ‘dirty backwater’, Orlesians said, and the whole country smelled like wet dog. Fereldans were barbarians who ate turnips. What was wrong with turnips, Nyssa had no idea, but, (Orlesian food tastes aside), zie suspected the disdain Orlais held for Ferelden had more to do with the smaller country’s relatively recent victory over the Empire. Thirty years was not recent by hir standards, but Orlesians held grudges and had long memories, and at least half the nobles in the Imperial Court would jump at the chance to reconquer the southern nation, wet dog smell and all.

So far, Nyssa found, Ferelden wasn’t dirtier than any other nation zie had been to. It was, however, miserably wet, and coupled with the chill, it seemed like hir very bones were frozen. As Nyssa crouched in the mud with hir sodden cloak pulled up over hir head, zie had to wonder just why zie had volunteered for this trip.

Three days ago, zie had been in Crestwood with the Inquisitor and a handful of his men, driving bandits out of the local villages and exploring demon-infested caves. It had been wet and cold and irritating then—between the rain, Cassandra’s suspicious glares, and Solas’s passive-aggression, hir temper had frayed considerably within the first few hours, and it had only been going downhill since then. When a message had arrived at Caer Bronach, requesting a healer for a mission, Nyssa had been all too eager to accept. Inquisition agents were investigating a Templar stronghold in Ferelden, and their healer had been wounded in a skirmish in the Southron Hills. Nyssa had left that night, riding as far as the Imperial Highway would take hir. Another half-dozen miles leading hir horse through the hills, and zie had reached the Inquisition checkpoint, like Scout Harding had said zie would. Nyssa had left hir horse and continued east. Zie hadn’t gone far before zie stumbled upon a camp.

A low fire, built underneath a makeshift lean-to. A half-dozen people, maybe more. It was hard to see much through the near-constant drizzle, and only one moon lit up the sky. Dancing flames reflected off worn leather and plate armour. Good quality stuff too, not the cheap, painted splintmail of common bandits. They couldn’t be Venatori; not this farther south. Likely they were Inquisition agents, like the people at the checkpoint had said, but zie didn’t recognise any of them.

A familiar sound reached hir ears—a bowstring pulling taut, and Nyssa stilled.

“That’s right,” said a voice from behind hir, with a soft Marcher brogue. “Up you get. Nice and slow.”

Nyssa sighed, but obeyed. Nearly a day without sleep clearly made hir tired and careless.

A few light footsteps, and an elven man circled around to face hir, bow at the ready. Zie squinted at him in the dark, trying to see his face, but his hood shadowed all but a pair of eyes glinting in the dark. Zie glanced down—then relaxed at the familiar symbol on his cloak pin.

“Good, you’re Inquisition,” zie said. “I thought I may have stumbled upon the wrong camp.”

“Aye,” said the man, lowering his bow, though his arrow remained nocked. “And who are you?”

“Nyssa. I’m here to help.” Slowly, zie reached for hir bag and retrieved the folded letter Lavellan had written hir.

“What’s going on?” called a voice to their left, and another man—human this time, dressed in heavy armour—appeared from the forest. He looked Nyssa up and down. “Who are you?”

“As I’m trying to explain, I—”

“Hey, Farrow!” someone shouted from their right, a higher voice this time, and a dwarven woman appeared from behind a tree. “Was it a rabbit or a nug? Oh—” she stopped, taking in the sight of Nyssa flanked by the others, and frowned. “Who’s this?”

“Will you just let me read the letter?” Nyssa said impatiently, and opened it. “It’s addressed to Cremisius Aclassi.”

“Oh, that’s me,” the human said, and took the letter. He skimmed it, shaking off a few drops of rain, and nodded. “Stitches heading back to Skyhold… sending you Nyssa instead—oh, you’re the healer.”

“And you’re Cremisius.” Zie remembered the name from Iron Bull’s stories on the way to Crestwood.

“Krem is fine.” Krem offered a gloved hand. “This is Farrow, and she’s Luka.” He handed Nyssa the letter, then gestured to the fire. “Come on, it’s too cold to be standing out here in the rain. Reminds me too much of the Storm Coast.”

Zie followed Krem to the shelter and sank to hir knees in front of the fire, sighing gratefully as its warmth washed over hir, and stripped off hir wet cloak. Several pairs of eyes watched hir with curiosity and suspicion as zie wrung the water out of hir cloak and hair.

“You got here just in time,” Krem said, and passed hir a wrapped bundle. “Here. Eat. We’re hitting the fortress in a few hours, now Farrow and Thornton are back from scouting the place.”

He introduced the others, pointing to each of them in turn, while Nyssa ate the cheese and dried meat inside the wrapped cloth. Their names escaped hir nearly as soon as he’d said them, but there wasn’t much zie could do about that. There were hundreds of people in the Inquisition, and zie was unlikely to see this motley assortment again after this mission.

“What is this place called again?” Nyssa asked, after zie had washed down the dry food with water.

“Therinfal Redoubt. According to Sister Leliana, it used to be Seeker training grounds before the templars moved in.”

Nyssa choked on hir last sip of water and coughed into hir hand, ignoring the snort of amusement from one of the dwarves.

“Templars?” zie repeated, when zie could talk again.

“They moved in after leaving Orlais, I’m told.” The apprehension must have shown on hir face, but Krem didn’t comment. “The letter says you’re a mage.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. We have another mage from the Ostwick Circle.” Krem pointed to a hooded man seated across the fire. “We’re not expecting templars. Sister Leliana’s reports say they cleared out after the Inquisition recruited the mages. Farrow and Thornton confirmed it a few hours ago.”

Nyssa nodded. The first thing zie had done at Skyhold—besides taking a bath—had been to read every report zie could get hir hands on. Zie knew the Inquisition had some conflict with Venatori at Redcliffe, and they’d been driven out of Haven shortly after. The reports had been disjointed, hastily written, talking about monstrous creatures infused with red lyrium. It sounded almost too unbelievable, but Nyssa knew better than to discount them. There were many dark secrets and mysteries in the world, and zie would be a fool to believe zie knew them all.

* * *

Their group left for the fortress before dawn—a half-hour march in semi-darkness, punctuated by murmured conversations. Nyssa walked apart in silence, and spoke only when spoken to. Lack of proper sleep had splintered hir focus, and zie wanted to keep an eye on their surroundings. If zie appeared rude, so be it.

The bridge leading to Therinfal’s outer wall was utterly deserted save for a few discarded barrels and a wagon with a broken wheel. The portcullis had been raised, inviting them in.

Krem sent Luka and Thornton ahead to check for an ambush. The rest of them spent ten minutes in tense silence, waiting off the road, before they got the all-clear to enter.

The path to the inner wall was less exposed than the bridge, but that didn’t make Nyssa feel any better. A Dalish elf was always safest in the forest—zie knew how to disappear into the trees, how to find food, how to avoid enemies. A few scrubby saplings and a handful of rocks did not make enough cover to satisfy hir. Not to mention that anyone posted on the inner walls would see them coming from a mile away.

Hir neck itched when they passed by the inner watchtowers, over the second bridge and through the gatehouse, but no attack came.

The first thing that drew Nyssa’s eye in the courtyard were the red banners hung on the opposite wall. One showed a sunburst embroidered in gold; the symbol of the Chantry. The other, a lion rampant, which zie recognised from the Fereldan flag. The third, a flaming sword on black cloth—the flag of the Templar Order.

“It’s a templar ritual,” said a voice beside hir, and Nyssa jumped. The other mage, Rion, stared up at the banners beside her. His scarred, pale face set in a sour expression as he pointed to three wooden posts driven into the ground by the sheer stone battlements.

“They make the recruits choose where their loyalties lie,” he continued. “To Andraste, the templars, or the people. They’re expected to put the templars first, of course.”

“Lovely,” Nyssa said dryly. “Not at all like a cult.”

A hint of a smile played around Rion’s mouth. He stepped back, letting Nyssa draw away from the entrance. The rest of the courtyard was unremarkable, from what zie could see—barrels, tents, training dummies and a large, central well with a wooden cover. A smaller building on the westside, probably a storage room of some sort. Beside it, a staircase flanked by two carved dog statues. Two gates on the far side, leading to somewhere else in the fortress.

_ Fereldans and their dogs _ , Nyssa thought, as zie walked over to inspect the statues. Zie wondered if the Templars kept mabari, like the rest of Ferelden seemed to. The thought made hir palms sweat.

“Nyssa,” Krem called, and zie turned. The rest of the group waited by the well as he gestured to hir. Water plastered his short brown hair to his head, and droplets ran down his face, pooling in the crevices of his armour. Like the rest of their group, he was soaked to the bone.

“You’re not falling asleep on me, are you?”

Nyssa laughed. “Not in this weather.”

Zie left the dog statues and jogged back over to the group, who had gathered under a shabby lean-to near the training dummies.

“We’ll split in two groups,” Krem continued. “One mage for each group. Farrow, Rion, Luka, Skinner, you’re with Grim. Amund, Thornton, Rocky, Nyssa, with me.”

Grim shot Krem a questioning look, but straightened and drew his sword.

“We’re doing a sweep,” Krem added, as if the other man had asked him a question. “You take the east side of the keep, we’ll take the west. Check for stragglers. You find any reports, bring ‘em back for Sister Nightingale. If there’s lyrium, don’t touch it. We’ll meet in the courtyard when we’re done.”

The elven woman, Skinner, spoke. “And if there are more than ‘stragglers’?”

“Send a signal.” Krem glanced at Rion and Nyssa. “You can do that, can’t you?” When both nodded, he turned back to Skinner and Grim. “If the other group’s not back by nightfall, well… we’ll figure it out if it happens.”

No scenario that included splitting groups ever ended well, but it wasn’t hir decision. Nyssa watched as the other group went through the small door into the main keep. When they disappeared, Krem beckoned them back up the stairs.

* * *

They found the first bodies in the upper barracks.

Two hours into exploring Therinfal Redoubt, and before that, Nyssa’s team had found nothing of note. The place was a mess of overturned furniture, scattered straw and broken crates littering the courtyard and officers’ quarters, like a great wind had swept through and displaced everything in its path. There were no supplies; the templars had stripped their stores bare before leaving. That was hardly noteworthy. What did bother Nyssa was the amount of personal items left behind—not just letters and trinkets, but delicately painted cameo portraits, a lyrium kit and a ring stamped with a family crest that looked too fancy not to be Orlesian. It bothered hir enough to comment as they climbed the stairs from the lower barracks.

“You should ask Rocky or Krem,” said Thornton, who hadn’t taken a hand off his bow since they’d entered the Keep.

“Well, don’t you think it’s strange?” Nyssa replied, then promptly tripped on the stone stairs. With a muttered curse zie fed more magic into hir crystal, and tried to ignore the stinging of grazed toes. “The templars must have been in a hurry to leave such personal things behind. Or…”

“Or they don’t need those things no more,” said a voice with a thick, dwarven accent, and Nyssa looked up. Rocky lingered on the top stair, staring at hir from behind his hood. “They’re monsters now. We all saw it at Haven. We fought them, then we high-tailed our asses out of there.”

“I wasn’t at Haven,” Nyssa said, “but I’ve read the reports.”

“Aye, well, they are what they are.” Rocky shrugged, and waved hir through the door he held open. They emerged into the upper barracks’ training yard, squinting as the mid-morning sun washed over them. Hir feet ached, and zie bent to adjust hir footwraps. Zie caught sight of armour glinting through the grass immediately.

“Here,” zie called, discomfort forgotten, and heard several pairs of boots scuff to a stop. Zie readied hir staff and shielded hir eyes for a better view before hir.

Armour glinting in the sun—a pair of boots—Nyssa moved before zie realised, compelled by the instinctive desire to help. But there was no helping the dead templar, who lay crumpled in leathers spattered with blood. A discarded bow lay by its slack hand.

“A body,” Nyssa said, as Krem moved into hir peripheral vision. Zie nudged the corpse with the butt of hir staff. The man was clearly dead, and had been for some time, but there was something unusual about the mottled skin showing under his hood. Zie crouched and tugged the cloth back roughly—

Red veins covered the dead templar’s face from neck to forehead, stark against his white skin, and a deep red coloured his sunken eye sockets. 

Nyssa shot upright so fast zie nearly over-balanced. 

_ “Fenhedis lasa!” _

“Here’s another,” Amund said from a few feet away, and zie stumbled over to look. This one was a knight, its face covered by a helmet. Another corpse lay nearby, punctured by a spear of red crystal.

“A battle,” the Avvar man said in his booming voice. “Some of the men turned upon their own.”

Zie ripped off the dead woman’s helmet and tossed it to the side. This one had veins clustered around her mouth; smaller and more subtle than the other corpse, but enough to stand out to Nyssa’s sharp eye.

“Is that one dead too?” Krem said from behind hir. Nyssa nodded. Then, as he took a step back, zie rose to hir feet.

“Did you know this had happened to them?”

If Krem was surprised or offended at hir hard tone, he gave no sign. He looked over his shoulder and nodded.

“Tell me what you saw at Haven,” Nyssa said, and stepped away from the body. Zie couldn’t bear to look at them any longer.

Krem’s brows furrowed in a grim expression.

“Templars attacked with the Venatori,” he said. “I cut down some at the trebuchets. Later, the Chargers went back to Haven and brought a few bodies for the researchers at Skyhold. Some looked like men still. Others were twisted. Covered in red crystals, like...” he glanced around, then gestured for hir to follow him over to another body. This one was twisted and grayish, with red crystals protruding from its back, and Nyssa felt bile rise in hir throat. Zie swallowed hastily and took a deep breath.

“Make sure no-one touches the bodies with their bare hands,” zie said, and Krem nodded. “Or at all, if possible.”

“Right.”

“I’ve heard the stories of red lyrium,” Nyssa added reluctantly, as zie stared down at the abomination. “What happened in Kirkwall a few years ago, with the Knight-Commander. They say she’s still a statue in the middle of the Gallows.”

“There was red lyrium at the Temple of Sacred Ashes,” Thornton said from a few feet away. “I was there. I saw it.”

Nyssa closed hir eyes and let the Veil pass over hir in gentle ripples, drowning out the noise of the others talking and the crunch of boots on grass and cobblestone.

There was  _ something _ in this place; zie sensed it immediately, but it wasn’t the prickling uneasiness zie felt near demons. Whatever secrets the fortress held, it was unclear, or it was hiding.

The Veil trembled all of a sudden, pushing back against hir senses, and hir head began to ache. Frowning, Nyssa opened hir eyes. Krem was staring at hir with the vague, uneasy expression mundane people usually wore when zie worked hir magic in their presence.

“What is it?” he asked.

Nyssa shook hir head. “I don’t know. The Veil’s thin here, probably moreso from the battle. It may be from the red lyrium.”

“Maybe,” Krem said, but he didn’t look convinced.

The tremour in the Veil had passed, but Nyssa’s headache remained, and zie did hir best to ignore it as zie followed the rest of the team from room to room. Much like the rest of the fortress, the upper barracks were empty of supplies and strewn with personal belongings.

Too much exposure to lyrium, raw or otherwise, could drive a person mad. That was mostly common knowledge, but zie had never heard of lyrium exposure twisting people into monsters. Nor had zie heard of red lyrium before the well-known story of its appearance in Kirkwall. Varric’s story about the Champion of Kirkwall had been a work of fiction, but the one truth in it was the danger of red lyrium. He had assured hir of this personally, and with an uncharacteristic seriousness. Perhaps it was a different type of lyrium; one that infected beings like the darkspawn taint, and the surviving templars had brought it back to Therinfal.

“Watch your head,” Thornton said as he opened the door to the last room in the upper barracks. Nyssa didn’t even catch the joke, pre-occupied as zie was, and only when hir headache rose to a pitch did zie stop in the middle of the room and look around.

Red filled hir vision—a sickly glow so bright it almost blinded hir, emanating from gigantic spikes of red, glowing rock embedded in the walls of the room. Hir head throbbed; the pain was so sudden and fierce that Nyssa grimaced, one hand clamped over hir mouth, willing hir sudden nausea to go away.

A strong, knobbled hand grabbed hir by the shoulder.

“Peace, little curly elf,” said Amund, and his voice was almost too loud for Nyssa to handle.

“I’m fine,” Nyssa gasped, and straightened. Hir head throbbed, but zie forced hirself to ignore it. The others had moved up the stairs, past the red lyrium; evidently they couldn’t hear the unbearable hum that assaulted hir ears.

Zie was used to handling refined lyrium for potions. This was something entirely different, and much,  _ much _ stronger.

Nyssa brushed off Amund’s hand and followed the rest of their group up the stairs, rubbing hir temples. The only other feature in the room was a rough-hewn table with an open crate set on it. Papers scattered the worn floorboards at its feet.

“Shipping manifest,” Rocky said, as he bent to pick up the paper. “This is the seal of House Keltarr.” He fell silent, moustache moving as he read silently. Krem leaned over his shoulder.

“Two crates, high grade, West Sink mines… three crates, regular grade. Five crates, red lyrium… rations given out on Lord Seeker’s orders.”

“They were taking it,” Nyssa said. Cold dread gripped hir stomach. “Like they do regular lyrium. That must be why they all look like that.”

Luka wrinkled her nose in disgust. “They were  _ taking  _ that shit? Ugh, nasty.”

“Right,” Krem said grimly, and straightened. He was halfway down the stairs before Nyssa could react—then a resounding crash shook the upper floor.

“ _ Veata! _ ” Rocky shouted, and shoved past Nyssa. “Krem! Stop!”

Nyssa followed him down the stairs with Luka hot on hir heels. Krem had paused, with his maul an inch away from a cracked spire of red lyrium. Red crystals scattered the floor around him.

“What?”

“Samples.” Rocky strode forward, kicking the crystals aside with a scowl. “We’ll want to take a bit. For the arcanist. She’ll want more than the mess you’re making of it.”

Nyssa didn’t stick around to see how the dwarf managed to get the samples. Zie headed outside, giving the lyrium a wide berth, and stood in the too-bright courtyard to wait for the others to finish.

Perhaps it was a result of hir headache, but zie couldn’t shake the uneasiness that settled on hir shoulders, and the feeling that something had been hiding in this place. Either that, or it was still hidden—and it was more than just the red lyrium.

There was only one way to truly find out.

* * *

“A spell?”

Krem looked uneasy, even for someone supposedly usd to working with mages. Nyssa didn’t blame him. Even for a mage, the depths of the Fade held dangers that even zie wouldn’t readily brave. Zie hadn’t grown up on a diet of hatred like a Circle mage might; zie was not afraid of demons. That didn’t make hir a fool.

“There was something here,” Nyssa said, “Maybe it was drawn to this place because of the deaths, or the red lyrium, or maybe the templars let it in.”

The great hall stretched before them, bathed in weak afternoon sunlight. Both teams had met by chance on the outer stairs, drawn back to the central keep after a fruitless search, and as one group they had entered. Of all the places in Therinfal, the hall was the most defensible, and if any templars had been left behind, this would be the most likely place to find them.

But there were no templars. Not alive, at least. Only bodies had remained, in varying degrees of red lyrium transformation, and the windows at the far end had been broken. Cold air whistled through the shattered glass, and it didn’t help their nerves any.

A few had gone to explore the shadows, to ensure there was no ambush waiting for them. Mostly they were sitting around, tired, cold and frustrated. It wasn’t an ideal setting to cast a spell.

“A demon?” Rion asked. He had drawn away from the others with Krem, Skinner, Grim and Nyssa, staff in hand and eyes still darting around, as if expecting an ambush.

“Perhaps.”

Skinner scoffed. “Templars who work with demons?”

“It’s not unheard of,” Nyssa replied, shrugging. “They may not have even known. Regardless…” zie turned back to Krem. “In places where a lot of death occurs, the Veil will create echoes of these events. I can use a spell to reveal what actually happened.”

Rion frowned. “I’ve never heard of such a spell.”

“Well, you wouldn’t, would you? You were taught in a Circle.”

The man shrugged, conceding the point. With a quick glance at the others, Nyssa closed hir eyes.

Keeper Elindra told hir once that the Veil was more of a magical vibration than the shroud its name implied, but to Nyssa, casting spells always felt like weaving a metaphysical tapestry. Manipulating it required a delicate touch, not brute strength, and that was something most shemlen mages failed to realise.

There—zie plucked a thread from the Veil, and ghostly figures rose about hir. There were a few exclamations and a  _ ‘what the fuck’ _ from Luka, but zie ignored them.

The templars rushed forward, translucent swords and shields raised. No sound came from their footfalls; whether that was due to the spell or hir lack of experience in casting it, Nyssa couldn’t say. One passed by hir close enough to see the red lyrium veins contorting his face.

_ “Fasta vass!”  _ Krem exclaimed. Nyssa glanced in the direction he was pointing and saw a mass of spindly, bloodless limbs rise from behind the stylised throne in the centre of the hall.

It was only a memory, but Nyssa felt the hair stand up on hir arms as the creature unhinged its jaws and let out a silent shriek. Hir companions reacted with equal horror; curse words and surprised cries rang across the hall.

Farrow spat. “A Maker-damned demon.”

“The armour,” Grim said. The others had drawn closer to watch, mouths agape and expressions mirroring disbelief and revulsion. Nyssa didn’t blame them; the sheer  _ wrongness  _ of the demon made hir skin crawl unpleasantly.

Krem frowned. “What armour?”

Grim fished in his pocket and passed a crumpled piece of paper to Krem. In front of them, the ghost-demon unfolded its limbs like a naked spider and attacked the templars, who retaliated with a muted battle cry.

“We found a suit of armour in the Lord Seeker’s quarters,” Farrow said; he seemed to have trouble tearing his eyes away from the scene of the battle. “The note was pinned to it. Read it. Tell me what that sounds like to you.”

“ _‘A Lord Seeker is never seen without ceremonial armour. I had a replica made’_ ,” Krem read. “ _‘The life of Lucius Corin ends with you.’_ ”

The demon tore itself free from the templars, shrieking silently, and threw itself through the shattered window.

The echo vanished, taking the scattered templars with it. Utter silence fell, until all they could hear was the wind whistling through the broken glass.

“Well, shit,” Rocky said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Veata - Dwarven. 'stop' or 'halt'.  
> Fasta vass - Tevene. A swear.


	9. Marred Not Marked

“I hate demons,” Farrow said.

Nyssa gripped the tree branch underneath hir and shifted weight from one hip to the other. Hir movement dislodged a shower of bark and leaves; a serious error that, in any other circumstances, would have meant hir life. Luckily, the elf below hir was no enemy. Just the man who, like hir, had been tasked with watching the road between Lothering and Redcliffe.

“Hate is a strong word,” Nyssa replied neutrally. “Though I would be concerned if you didn’t at least fear them.”

Farrow shot hir a brief look, brushed leaves from his blonde hair, then turned his gaze back to the road.

“They hate them here in Ferelden,” he said. “Darkspawn. Demons.”

“They’re two different types of creatures.”

He scoffed. “You think that matters to them? People don’t care about the difference. The result is the same. They die, or they lose everything.”

Curiosity tugged at hir; a question that arose from the bitter note in his voice, but Nyssa swallowed it. 

_ We’re near strangers, _ zie reminded hirself. _ His past is his own.  _

Perhaps he had lost family or friends to demons in the last few months, or darkspawn before that. Although the Fifth Blight had lasted only a year, there were likely many Fereldans who could say the same.

The roads in Ferelden reminded hir of the Free Marches—the long stretch of highway between Ostwick, Markham and Ansburg. In the winter, when travelers were scarce, you could walk for days and not encounter another living soul. That was why Krem had instructed zie and Farrow to observe the back roads. The demon from Therinfal might have been attracted to the busier Imperial Highway, but it was clever, and knew it was being hunted.

_ Envy _ . It was an envy demon. Nyssa hadn’t been certain until they had picked up its trail in Blackmoor, a village north-west of Therinfal Redoubt. Locals had reported the guard-captain acting oddly; later his body had been found rotting in the woods. A freeman from a smaller community had reported seeing his own doppelganger fleeing into the woods when confronted by one of his daughters.

Envy demons were rare, and their ability to change shape made them all the more dangerous. Now the creature was on its way to Redcliffe. Their team, Nyssa included, had spent four days tracking it.

The fifth day was half over. Still no word from Lavellan, or his advisors, on how to proceed—and Nyssa’s patience was wearing thin. Zie was not used to being so idle, and though zie held hir tongue, it must have showed in hir increasing agitation.

Nyssa shifted again, grunted in frustration, then began to climb down. There was no point in trying to sit still at this point.

Farrow didn’t react when zie dropped down behind him, except to give hir a glance over his shoulder. When zie began to pace back and forth, he looked at hir again.

“Maker, what is it now?”

Nyssa made a face. “We should have killed it in Blackmoor.”

Farrow’s gaze dropped, as if reluctant to respond.

“Aye,” he said eventually. “But the lieutenant wanted to wait. If we corner the demon—”

“—then we put it down. Obviously.” Zie threw up hir hands. “Creators. If this is what working for a human organisation is like—”

“It’s about doing what’s best for everyone. Wouldn’t expect a Dalish to know or care what’s—” he paused, brow furrowing, then shook his head and turned back to the road. “Nevermind.”

The silence stretched into minutes. Too late for hir to deflect with humour or sarcasm; to hide that his words had struck a nerve. Anger bubbled in hir throat, then something else far less familiar and comfortable. Eventually zie sighed. 

“You’re right.”

“I assumed as much,” Farrow said. “I’ve seen your tattoos on traders that used to come through my village.”

“No. I mean, yes, I am Dalish, but unused to being accountable to anyone else.” 

Zie exhaled slowly, letting hir anger and stinging pride recede into hir belly. Years of hard-learned lessons hadn’t tempered hir emotions any; zie was just better at controlling them. Or so zie thought.

“It wasn’t always like that,” Nyssa admitted into the silence. “In my clan, our elders’ decisions were made with the best interests of everyone in mind. Impatience is a weakness I don’t enjoy admitting to.”

“But you just did,” Farrow said. Zie glanced up; his gaze was a little warmer, and a small smile broke through the annoyed expression. “I can’t speak for the Inquisitor, but I doubt you’d be here if he thought you weak. Many elves have joined, too. More than I’ve ever seen.”

Idly, Nyssa traced the tattoo on hir chin. “City elves, yes.”

What would life be like if zie had been born in an alienage and not the wilds? It was a thought zie had entertained more than once, though never to be voiced out loud. City elves were treated terribly across Thedas, most of all in Tevinter. Still, they were bare-faced; untouched by the vallaslin that marked hir as forever an outsider.

_ Marked? _ a little voice in hir head whispered.  _ You mean  _ marred _. _

Farrow’s shrewd gaze made Nyssa feel uneasy. Zie turned away, suddenly wishing hir hair was loose enough to hide behind.

Never before had zie stopped to wonder how the vallaslin affected hir features. The sudden doubt and self-consciousness were new; its implication deeply uncomfortable. After all, hir tattoos were not subtle: the dark, red lines were thin, but noticeable, covering hir forehead, cheeks and chin in a design of spreading branches. Zie had never thought of them as ugly. Nor had zie cared that humans or even city elves might see them as fearful or savage.

Perhaps he wanted a person unmarked, the little voice said, and Nyssa began to pace, brows furrowing. Someone not a reflection on himself. If only—

“No,” zie muttered out loud, ignoring Farrow’s questioning look. Why was zie thinking of this now? 

The crunch of footsteps on dry foliage echoed from further down the hill, snapping hir out of hir thoughts. Farrow straightened, drew an arrow and casually began to raise his bow. Nyssa called hir staff to hir hand.

There was a rustle of leaves and Krem appeared, pushing aside a tangle of overgrown brambles.

“Lieutenant,” Farrow said, and relaxed.

Krem began to approach. Leaves and twigs fell from his hair and onto his pauldrons; he brushed them off impatiently and glanced between them.

“Any sight of it?”

“None.” Nyssa lowered hir staff and began to pace. “I hope you’ve come with good news.”

For a moment he looked puzzled, then shook his head.

“No.”

His gaze focused on hir pacing back and forth. Watching like a hawk, zie realised, which was odd. ‘Intense’ was not a word zie would use to describe Krem, despite only knowing him for a few days. The man lacked the usual rough manner of a mercenary, and favoured caution over action; perhaps a little too much for hir liking. He was the one who had decided to wait for word from Skyhold before killing the Therinfal demon. It was a decision zie protested, and zie hadn’t been the only one. Demons were not to be trifled with, and this one was too dangerous to leave alive.

“What are you out here for?” Farrow asked, bringing Nyssa back to the present. He leaned against a tree, scuffing his boot in the dirt, and tucked his bow in the crook of one elbow. He twirled the arrow between his fingers. “You take a piss and get turned around?”

Nyssa laughed. Krem didn’t.

“I want everyone back at camp. Now.”

“We’re to stop watching the roads?” Farrow said, and shot Nyssa an incredulous glance. Zie shrugged. If that meant less time sitting around watching the trees grow, that was fine by hir. Returning to camp likely meant Krem had some other plan in mind.

Krem watched as they gathered their things and began to head back down the hill. Nyssa lifted hir face to the dappled sunlight and sighed. Crunching footsteps behind told hir Krem had fallen back. Much quieter footsteps from hir left were Farrow’s. He moved closer, then closer—which was a little disconcerting—then a slender, lean arm wrapped around hir shoulders and pulled hir in.

“Get your hands off me,” Nyssa began, but Farrow leaned in closer, anticipating the twist of hir shoulder.

“It’s the demon,” he breathed in hir ear.

Only pure instinct kept Nyssa from looking back or grinding to a halt, or maybe zie had spent too much time around Orlesians and their stupid Game.

“How do you know?” zie asked casually, and forced a smile as if they’d shared a joke.

“The only time I’ve ever seen the lieutenant without his weapon is when the Iron Bull put him on his arse in training.” Farrow leaned in closer, blonde hair falling into his eyes. “Krem himself told me not to move from that hill until he gave me a command. A phrase only we know. Demons can only copy so much.”

“Then we shouldn’t be leading it back to camp.”

“We’ll get it out of the forest,” Farrow murmured, and let hir go. “Force it to fight on open ground. When I say.”

Slow, creeping fear wound its way up Nyssa’s spine, and suddenly zie was reminded of hir dream from weeks ago. If only such a demon could be wished away.

It could have, zie reminded hirself, if zie had only been more powerful; more like Felassan— 

There was a sharp intake of breath from behind hir, and Nyssa shivered. Whatever resentment lingered for hir mentor clearly was enough to feed the demon stalking behind hir. All those secret, shameful thoughts from the deepest reach of hir mind—the greed and the insecurity that gave Envy a chance to worm its way in. All it had to do was go looking.

The trees began to thin as they reached the bottom of the hill. Beyond that was a small field, and a narrow river dividing the hills in two. The Inquisition camp was across the river. From this far away, they could see flashes of red canvas and smoke rising from the fires. Faint clashes of steel told Nyssa that soldiers were running drills on the edge of the camp.

If they could just get a signal high enough and big enough to alert them—

“Now,” Farrow said, barely above a whisper, and Nyssa pivoted on one heel.

Krem dropped to the ground with an agility no man in full armour should possess; the bolt from hir staff whooshed over his head, taking a few singed hairs with it. He was up in seconds, face contorting in fury. Then he laughed.

“I suppose the game is up,” he said.

Farrow spat, ignoring Nyssa’s look of disgust. “Vermin. You gave yourself away the minute you ordered us off that hill.”

“Ah, well…” the demon spread its hands in resignation. “I would have better fooled you if I had the lieutenant’s body, and not this illusion. It calls itself Cremisius, yes?”

There was a resounding  _ crack  _ and an arrow sprouted in its shoulder. The demon whipped its head around and shrieked in rage, lunging for Farrow. Its face blanched white, and its limbs began to elongate. Leather and steel, skin and hair bubbled away, leaving a thing of spindly limbs and bloodless flesh. Nyssa lifted hir staff and cast the signal, a shower of red and purple sparks that lit up the clouds with a smear of colour.

There was a faint shout of alarm from behind them, and the demon folded its limbs and turned its body towards hir.

* * *

“So you killed the demon.”

Nyssa glanced up at the people surrounding hir, then back down to the tattered map. It had been hastily pinned to the table by a few well-placed nails, so only its edges flapped feebly in the gusts of strong wind.

Fatigue would usually make hir sarcastic. It was the Inquisitor who had spoken, though, so it would be stupid of hir to forget who zie was addressing.

Hir neck ached; absently zie rubbed it as zie traced a finger over the map. “Yeah, we caught the demon somewhere around here, just a few hours east of Redcliffe. That was after we tracked it from here, here and here.”

Only a few of the Inquisitor’s inner circle had shown up when Nyssa trudged into Caer Bronach an hour before; chilled, dirty, tired and hungry. Varric and Solas were ‘somewhere else’ in the fort, Cassandra said, before parking herself in front of the table with her usual stern mask in place. Dorian had shown up with a flagon of drink, and zie hadn’t expected him to stray so far from the comforts of Skyhold. Iron Bull was there; that Nyssa had expected.

“Krem and the other agents went straight back to Skyhold,” Nyssa said, “there’s a report on its way to the war council. It was quicker for me to just come back here and let you know what happened.”

“And?”

“Well, as you know from Krem’s earlier report, we tracked the demon from Therinfal Redoubt. From what we found, it had been impersonating the Lord Seeker for some time.”

Cassandra’s eyebrows shot up.

“That must be why he acted so strangely in Val Royeaux,” Lavellan said to her.

“Impossible.” Cassandra stepped forward, hand jabbing the map for emphasis, and Nyssa resisted the instinct to step back. “Seekers cannot be possessed.”

“No-one is above temptation,” Nyssa replied, with as much patience as zie could muster. “Even Chantry folk.”

Cassandra shook her head. 

“You misunderstand,” she replied, her voice laced with irritation. “Seekers are immune to possession by any demon. It is a gift bestowed upon us at our initiation, among other skills.”

“Then he probably made some sort of deal,” Iron Bull said. “Give the guy… I don’t know, the power to be in two places at once. The really powerful ones have a lot of weird-ass abilities.”

“Envy demon,” Dorian said. “Oh, don’t look so surprised. I did learn something at the Minrathous Circle, you know.”

Nyssa pinched the bridge of hir nose, willing the brewing headache to stop. “May I finish speaking?”

Silence fell, save for the low moan of the wind.

“Thank you. It was an Envy demon, and yes, it was powerful, but it became desperate. We cornered it and we killed it. Not without effort, but most of our camp lent a hand.”

“Did you find anything on it?” Cassandra pressed. “Anything of importance? Did it speak?”

The demon’s voice, oily and thick, clung like cobwebs to the inside of hir skull.

_ Marred, not marked. You are naught but a pale shadow of your ancestors… but with me, I can restore you to your true self, son of Shartan. If you let me— _   
“Nyssa?” Lavellan prompted, and Nyssa grimaced. 

“Nothing that the Inquisition didn’t already know. At least not according to Krem.” Zie gave him the bundle of notes the mercenary had passed on to hir before leaving.

Several moments passed in silence as the Inquisitor thumbed through the pages. His frown deepened with each note put aside, and absently Nyssa noticed how tired he looked. There were purple shadows under his eyes, standing out against his pale skin, and little hollows under his cheekbones.

“Hey, is anyone else starving?” Iron Bull said, and straightened. He rolled his neck side to side with an audible crack, then flexed his massive shoulders.

Lavellan glanced up from the missives, eyes widening, as if he’d forgotten the others. “Huh?”

“You should eat,” Nyssa added, with a small grin at the Qunari. “Healer’s orders.”

A small, tired smile cracked the mask of fatigue on the Inquisitor’s face.

“Alright,” he replied, folding the missives, and shoved them into his pocket. “We can come back to it in the morning. Assuming we’re not blown away by this wind.”

  
  


With the meeting ended, Nyssa headed inside the keep. It was still mostly in shambles thanks to its previous squatters, but the tables had been cleared and a cooking fire set up. The smell of meat hit hir as soon as zie stepped inside, and zie wandered up to the steaming pot. Roast venison, potatoes, carrots in a stew; dense, heavy food for soldiers who needed energy to burn, but hungry as zie was, the smell made hir stomach turn.

On any other night, zie would simply be grateful to have a hot meal at hir leisure. On this night, the fortress already overwhelmed hir, and zie just wanted to be on hir own.

“Marigold!”

Varric’s voice rose over the crackle of flames and background chatter. Zie spotted him moments later sitting at a table under a worn old awning, with a dark-haired human woman at his side. Nyssa sighed, grabbed a bowl and filled it with the stew.

_ Beggars can’t be choosers _ , zie reminded hirself, and accepted a mug of ale from a dwarf attending the fire.

“So,” Varric said as zie approached. “Should I start calling you ‘demon-slayer’?”

Nyssa rolled hir eyes. “Please. I’m happy to let the Chargers take all the credit. Who’s this?”

“Hawke,” the woman said.

“The Champion of Kirkwall? Aren’t you supposed to be in Rivain?”

“I thought it was Nevarra,” Varric said, eyes twinkling.

“That’s rumours for you. They’re unreliable.” Hawke took a gulp from hir pint. Her eyes were ice-blue; shrewd. “You’re Nyssa. Varric’s been telling me about you.”

“Oh, are we gossiping?” Nyssa said. “Wonderful.”

“Only when you’re not around to hear it, Marigold.” Varric winked. “I did tell Hawke how you threw that surgeon out of her own healing tent.”

“Nonsense. I just told her the Inquisitor put me in charge.”

Hawke smirked. “And did he?”

Nyssa took a sip of hir drink, pointedly, and Varric and Hawke laughed.

Hunger won out over hir sour mood and zie ate hir stew, content to listen as Hawke and Varric bantered about Kirkwall. Iron Bull joined them with a pint of something; whatever it was, its smell burned the inside of hir nostrils. Hawke matched Iron Bull drink for drink—an impressive feat considering his size—and eventually pulled out a deck of cards.

“Aw, come on,” Iron Bull said, when Nyssa declined to play. “It’ll be fun.”

Nyssa sighed, fished a copper from hir purse and tossed it in the pile. “Fine.”

Card games were popular in Orlesian alienages, played by stable boys and street sweepers, or card-sharps who frittered away their earnings on drink. Zie had never enjoyed them, not even when zie won.

“Four serpents,” Varric said, and laid down his hand. “Don’t look so gloomy, Hawke. You remind me of the elf.”

Hawke scoffed. “Aveline was the sore loser, not Fenris. Alright, my turn.”

The familiar name caught up to Nyssa one second too late. 

“Wait—you know Fenris?”

Hawke and Varric exchanged a look.

“It’s not a common name,” Hawke said. “You don’t suppose—”

“Elven?” Nyssa interrupted. A shiver of excitement, or anxiety, crawled up hir spine. “With white hair and strange markings on his skin. Wields a big sword. Rather taciturn.”

“Marigold!” Varric exclaimed, and slapped his hand on the table. His eyes lit up. “You  _ do _ know the elf. This I have to hear.”

“How is he?” Nyssa asked, a little too eagerly, and felt hir ears burn. “Is he well?”

Hawke began to shuffle the cards again.

“I’m not sure,” she said. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard from him. And what do you mean  _ gloomy _ , Varric? As if I didn’t kick your arse at Wicked Grace every month in Kirkwall.”

Those pale eyes fixed on Nyssa again, and zie dropped hir gaze—suddenly aware of how much zie had revealed in hir eagerness.

That was that; the conversation moved on to other topics. Disappointed, and embarrassed by hir slip, Nyssa played another few rounds, but hir focus had turned inward to remembering what zie could of Fenris.

Four years was a long time and many people had come and gone in hir life. Very few were remarkable; even less made such an impression on hir. Fenris had taught hir to fight, tended hir wounds, defended hir… for someone who had insisted he did not trust magic or mages, he had been kind. Or perhaps zie had been on hir own for too long, and being treated with anything more than disdain was foreign to hir.

“You joining us for a game, Chuckles?” Varric asked, and Nyssa glanced up to see Solas taking a seat.

Now, here was another conundrum.

Since the demon battle in the Exalted Plains, Nyssa had largely avoided Solas, afraid that he would sense hir suspicion and the trouble that would bring. It was difficult to avoid him entirely, though—wherever the Inquisitor was, Solas wasn’t far behind.

“What game are you playing?” Solas asked. His gaze wandered over Iron Bull, Hawke, Varric and Nyssa, lingering a second too long for hir comfort.

“Wicked Grace. Ever played?”

“Ah. No, I have not… though I was taught to play diamondback by Blackwall a few nights past.”

“Diamondback it is, then,” Hawke said, and shuffled again. “My time to shine.”

“My cue to leave,” Nyssa said, and stood. “Goodnight.”

Solas on top of everything else was more than zie felt like putting up with that night.

Zie excused hirself, returned hir bowl and practically fled the keep. Once zie was outside, zie climbed up to the battlements and stood under the newly hoisted Inquisition flag, where the orange glow of the braziers faded into the blue-black of night, and the smoky haze into cool air.

“Fenris meant something to you, huh?” said a voice behind hir.

Nyssa turned around and regarded Varric with an exasperated glare.

“Nosy bloody dwarf,” zie grumbled, and he laughed. “You couldn’t leave it alone, could you?”

“Hey, you know me. I always like to hear a story. So.” Varric leaned casually against a nearby stone wall. “Was it a whirlwind romance?”

“ _ Varric _ .”

For a moment zie thought he was going to push for an answer again, or tease hir, and that would have been just about enough zie could tolerate—but he must have seen the stiffness in hir posture and the dangerous glint in hir eye. He straightened, unfolded his arms, then gestured for hir to come closer. Nyssa sighed irritably, but joined him.

“Alright, Marigold. What’s really bothering you?”

He really was just likeable enough to spill hir guts to. Nyssa fidgeted, biting hir lip, then sighed. If it ended up in his next book, there wasn’t much zie could do about it.

“The Envy demon said some things,” zie replied reluctantly. “I haven’t been able to let it go as much as I would like.”

“Isn’t that what demons do? Get into your head?”

“Yes, but it’s not supposed to happen to me.” Nyssa gave him a rueful smile. “Doubt and insecurity is how an envy demon worms its way in. You begin to wonder how things would be, if only you did this or said that. If only you were stronger, braver, smarter. It’s only one more step to compare yourself to others who emulate those traits. There’s always someone. We all know a person like that. Where everything they embody is everything we lack.”

Zie expected Varric to come back with a quip or a joke, but he was silent.

“Anyway,” Nyssa said. “The demon pounced on that doubt like a loose thread in a tapestry. I thought all sorts of things. Mostly about how what if—if Fenris would have wanted someone less…” zie paused, flushing; gathered hirself and continued. “Less everything he feared and distrusted. Less marked. Marred.” Hir fingertip traced the vallaslin on hir chin. “But that’s silly, isn’t it? We only worked together a few weeks. He probably forgot me the moment we parted.”

Varric hummed, the only sound he’d made in several minutes. Unusual for him. Unusual for hir too, to be spilling hir guts to anyone. The dwarf was far too likeable for hir own comfort, and Nyssa would bet a sovereign that was deliberate.

“You could write to him,” Varric said.

A sudden panic gripped Nyssa’s chest. “What?”

“If you want to know if he remembers you, why don’t you just write and ask him?”

“I don’t—I can’t do that,” zie said, and glanced at him. “Can I?”

Varric grinned at hir. “Sure. Why not? He’s up in Tevinter, last Hawke heard. I lost touch since the Seeker hauled me up to the Conclave, but…” he winked. “I happen to know someone who can get a message to him.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Andaran atish'an - elven. A formal greeting, literally 'enter this place in peace'.


End file.
